Elektra
by itsourinsidejoke
Summary: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he had expected dead bodies, trash cans, and paperwork. But what young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.
1. Prologue

**I don't own Castle.**

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><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked in to the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, trash cans, and paperwork. But what young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

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><p>Prologue<p>

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><p>He woke up to the smell of cherries.<p>

Richard Rodgers blinked heavily and shifted, trying to see in the blackness. A pounding like a bass of a pop song wracked his head. He scrunched up his nose, willing the pain to stop. He had never had a hangover this bad before. He had always been a strong drinker. At least, he had never drunk so much that he didn't remember anything the next day. Or night? What time _was_ it?

That was when he felt silky hair against his bare chest. He looked down to see a face, usually so stern, completely serene in sleep. The curve of her lip, pouting slightly was adorable. Her eyeliner was smudged at the corner of her eyes. Her straight nose sprinkled with the lightest of freckles he hadn't noticed because he had never been this close to her before. It was Detective Beckett. How had he gotten in bed with Detective Beckett?

What the _hell_ happened last night?

That was when he felt _her_ naked body pressed up against _his_ naked body.

His eyes widened.

Rick took a deep breath and willed his heart to calm down. He had always had a knack with words and he tried everything he could to come up with a scenario where Kate ended up in bed with him for any other reason other than sex. There was no way he had sex with Kate Beckett. What was she going to do when she woke up? Oh, God. She was going to kill him. The least she was going to do was castrate him.

Why the _hell_ couldn't he remember anything?

Had he really gotten so drunk that he couldn't remember anything?

Kate stirred in her sleep. His arm that was nestled around her back stiffened. He stopped breathing, his eyes impossibly wide in the darkness. She smacked her lips together before returning to sleep, snuggling closer to him. Oh, God, he could feel her breasts up against his side. Now, how was he supposed to go back to sleep?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to go back to sleep.

Just thirty seconds later, he huffed and opened his eyes. That was when he noticed that this bed was not familiar. This wasn't his top-of-the-line comfort, king-sized bed from his loft a few blocks from the Precinct. No, this felt smaller but comfortable complete with silky sheets and fluffy pillows. God, where was the blanket, feeling a draft coming in some direction.

Richard Rodgers lay awake for what felt like a good two hours. He couldn't see a clock anywhere in the darkness so he had no idea what the time was. He tried to come up with a plan to escape. But he couldn't leave – he had no idea where his clothes were, he had no idea where he was, and he didn't know if he should leave Beckett alone.

What if she didn't remember anything? He knew her well enough that she would think the worst. He already knew about her mother's murder – what if she thought she had been raped? Her life was tragic enough. He didn't want her to think that something awful had happened last night.

Well, something more awful than what already had.

God, what happened?

He rubbed his free hand down his face.

Yawning, he felt exhaustion take its course over him. He didn't want to go back to sleep because he didn't want to be asleep when she woke up. She was going to be so pissed. He had no idea what to tell her because he couldn't remember anything about the night before.

_"Oh, I don't need to drink him."_

"_Let's make it interesting, then_."

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><p>The shrill sound of ringing woke him up a second time.<p>

Just a split second later, a deeper tone of a similar ringer went off. He felt Kate shift beside. Who the hell was calling? He felt her sit up, the blanket falling to reveal her bare chest. She looked disheveled. Her long hair that was usually put in a bun was loose and falling every which way. She ran a hand through her hair, taking in her surroundings. All the while, Rick lay there, not moving, staring at her, bile resting nicely in his throat.

It felt like minutes but in reality only a few seconds when she finally looked at him – his bedhead, his lipstick covered cheeks, his bare chest. She then looked down at herself. Then, her eyes widened. "Oh, my God!" she yelled grabbing a sheet, pulling it up around herself, blocking his view of her naked body.

He sat up as she scrambled off the bed, taking the only thing that was covering him. "Oh, my God!" she shrieked again. "Put it away, put it away!" she whirled around so her bare back was facing him. He fell off the bed, searching desperately for at least his boxers. She dropped to the floor as well, trying to find her own clothes. He finally found them and he pressed his back up against the carpet, tugging them up faster than they were disposed of the night before.

He swallowed and peered over the top of the bed.

"Beckett?" he asked when he didn't see her.

He felt his ear being tugged. He shrieked as he was sharply turned around by his ear. Kate was standing in front of him, her clothes hastily put on. He could see her red bra peeking from her mismatched buttons on her white top. Her shoulders tensed and she squeezed his ear. "Castle!" she screamed. "What the hell are you doing? What are you doing here? Why are you naked!" Her eyes were wide with confusion, anger, and also … fear?

He had never seen Detective Katherine Beckett so much as bat an eyelash in front of a serial killer. Men with knives, guns, hell, _bombs_ did not faze her. However, now, in front of him, after a night neither of them could remember, she looked like she was going to throw up all over him. He didn't know what to say to make her feel better. Hell, he didn't know what to say _period_. These relationships were only accepted on television. In real life, one of them would at least be transferred. At the worst, they could both lose their badges if anyone found out.

"I – I … um," he looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. They weren't in his apartment, like he expected. It was too girly – too clean. It looked like … was he her bedroom? "Uh, I don't know. Beckett, you have to believe me. I have no idea what's going on."

She shook her head and then let go of his ear.

The ringing filled up the quiet room again. They both jumped, each reaching for their respective phones.

"Beckett," Kate said harshly into the receiver.

"Rodgers," Rick said a second after.

"Yo, bro," came the sound of Javier Esposito's voice in Rick's ear. "I've called you, like, four times. Why aren't you answering?" Rick sputtered for a total of ten seconds before Esposito replied, "Whatever. Look, we have a body at 110th and 2nd Avenue. You need to get here before Detective Beckett does. If you're not here picking through garbage cans with me by the time she gets here, she'll have your head."

He glanced up at the woman in question as she paced the room, most likely getting similar information.

"That's not all she have," he replied, terrified for his life, before hanging up.

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><p><strong>A.N.<strong>

**So, obviously, this is COMPLETELY not in the realm of our wonderful TV-Castle. AT ALL. Haha, I really enjoyed writing this and I hope everyone enjoyed reading as well. We're going back a ways in the next chapter. ;) Thank you SO much for reading! And please, give this a chance! It might start out confusing, but, it'll be explained in time. **

**Until next Wednesday,  
><strong>**Lizzy**


	2. Baby Bird

**I don't own Castle.**

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><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

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><p><em>Chapter 1 – "Bye, Baby Bird"<em>

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><p>"Mother, I have to go!"<p>

Richard Rodgers ran out of his bedroom, and skidded across the floor to put on his dress shoes. His mother watched him with sleepy eyes from the staircase, holding a bundle of blankets and red hair. He flopped down on the floor; quickly pulling on his shoes, he retied the laces when his fast-paced brain couldn't function as well as he wanted it too.

"The least you can do is give us a kiss goodbye," his mother called from her position.

He scrambled to his feet and jogged over to her. He bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, his two-day old stubble scratching her face. "Bye, Mother." He leaned back and gave her a charming smile. Then, slowly, he looked down at the bundle in her arms. His little baby girl – who wasn't so little any more – was currently drooling on his mother's shoulder. She blinked her blue eyes open and stared back at him. His smile turned from charming to radiant as he stared at his little girl. "Bye, Daddy," she croaked, snuggling deeper into her grandmother's shoulder.

"Bye, Baby Bird," he whispered and kissed his baby's forehead. Alexis squirmed in his mother's arms and scrunched her nose. She left out a small yawn and Rick gave a little-boy smile to his mother. "Isn't she perfect?" he asked rhetorically. His mother gave a soft smile back.

"You need to go, darling," Martha replied after a moment. "This little one is sleepy and you have a new job to attend to." She winked at him. Rick gave her an, 'Oh, right!' look and then bolted it to the door. "I expect Meredith will be around today to take care of her daughter!" Martha shouted after him.

He grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. He popped his collar and confirmed, "I'm sure she will! She texted me last night and said that filming was going to finish up early." He didn't hear what she said afterwards but he was sure it something inappropriate for her to say whilst holding a five-year-old girl.

Rick walked out into the hallway and locked the door shut behind him.

If Meredith didn't show up, he had some choice words for her as well.

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><p>"Welcome to the team, Detective Rodgers," Captain Roy Montgomery clipped with a brisk smile.<p>

Rick nodded and stood up. The captain handed him his gun, badge, and a stack of paperwork that needed to be filled out before he went out in the field. He holstered the gun and clipped the badge on his belt before turning back to his superior. "Sir?" he asked, running the edge of his index finger along the tip of the paper, challenging paper cuts. "I'm supposed to be assigned a partner, correct? I haven't received his name." The captain looked up from his paperwork.

"Her," he replied.

"Excuse me?"

Captain Montgomery gingerly set down his pen on the desk. He intertwined his hands together and rested his chin on top of them. Rick looked into his deep brown eyes and a sudden dread overcame his body. Something about the way he was looking at him told Rick that he should be afraid for his answer. "_Her_," he repeated. "Your new partner is Detective Katherine –Kate – Beckett."

Montgomery nodded out the window and Rick turned his head to a tall woman with four-inch spike heels marching into the Precinct. She was absolutely gorgeous; haunting good looks, amazing figure, with long, curled brown hair. She wore black slacks with a leather jacket covering her white-collared shirt, giving her a professional aura with just a hint of a biker vibe. Rick felt the blood rush from his head.

He was being partnered with a _freaking_ _model_.

Oh, he could get used to this.

"Thank you, Sir," he approved. She was way better than his partner at the 17th Precinct already. His old partner was the douche bag who broke up his marriage after he had slept with his wife. Not that Meredith was the best wife, and an even worse mother, but Rick had wanted to try the marriage. He had been desperate to make it work. But trying had all went to hell the minute he started working with Derek Singer. Two years of marriage went down the drain when he was promoted to detective at Narcotics.

And Detective Katherine – Kate – Becket was freaking _hot_.

Captain Roy Montgomery cleared his throat and Rick immediately looked back. His captain lowered his eyes. "Don't let looks deceive you, Detective," he warned. "Detective Beckett is one of the hardest cops I know."

Rick gave a look of pure innocence. "Why are you telling me this, Captain?" he asked, glancing back as his partner sat down. He watched how her tight pants pulled to show off her ass nicely. Too nicely. Rick's eyes squinted and he cocked his head just slightly, his mouth falling ajar.

The captain looked back down at his paperwork, picked up his ball-point pen, and sighed, "You know what I mean, Detective. As the old saying goes, 'If you play with fire …'"

"You're gonna get burned," Rick finished. He lowered his eyes, staring at his new partner, who was currently behind over her desk, staring at her own stack of paperwork. Silently, he added, _I don't even know if that'd be a bad thing_.

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><p>"Good morning, Detective," Captain Montgomery commented, hovering over Beckett's shoulder. Rick watched from behind his superior, peeking around his shoulder to catch another glance at his new partner. She spun around in her chair, her hair flipping off her shoulder, like there was a freaking wind machine.<p>

Damn, just her hair was like watching porn.

Hair-porn.

"Captain," she greeted, nodding her head once. She glanced at Rick. He felt his heart skip a beat but his face didn't show it. She had a sultry voice; with just two syllables, he could tell she was all business. She would make him hurt. And he would enjoy every minute of it.

"I would like to introduce you to your new partner, Richard Rodgers."

Rick stepped around his superior and extended a hand. Katherine Beckett looked like someone who had just watched puppy being stabbed. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly ajar. If Rick was any cockier, he would assume it was because of his stunning good looks – however, he knew that was not so. It seemed that Captain Montgomery hadn't told his new partner that she would no longer be riding solo.

Slowly, she extended her hand to him, still giving him a strange expression. Instead of shaking it, he pulled her hand to his mouth and gently kissed the back of her palm. She squirmed and retracted her hand immediately. "It's nice to meet you, Detective Beckett," he smiled crookedly at her.

She managed to take her eyes off him. She looked at Captain Montgomery, who was glaring at Rick. "Captain," she managed after a moment of hesitation. "Can I talk to you privately, Sir?"

Captain Montgomery pursed his lips, gave her a look. "Nope," he clipped and spun around, heading back into his office. Kate glared at Rick, giving a new feeling to the expression, 'If looks could kill …' When the captain reached his door, "Oh, and Detective Rodgers," he called. Rick turned his head slightly. "You can share your desk with Beckett his week. Your desk is currently being shipped. Beckett," he warned, giving her a pointed glare. Rick looked at her in time to find her biting her words.

Just like that, they were alone.

With a 'plop!' he sat down in the chair that was pressed up against her desk. He set his elbow on the edge of desk and, after settling his chin in his palm, stared at her. A beat of silence passed then he taunted, "I'm looking forward to working with you."

Her eyes shifted to him. He cocked his head to the side, almost daring her. She bit her lip and leaned forward so her chest pressed up against the edge of the desk. He glanced down, trying not to groan as her breasts made themselves even more apparent. She glanced from his eyes to his lips and he swallowed heavily, his lips falling open. She bit her lip and replied, "I'm sure it'll be a _pleasure_."

After a second (or an hour), her face changed from seductive to distasteful as she rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

He smirked, licking his lips. He liked her. He _really_ liked her.

They sat in silence for the next twenty minutes. He watched her fill out her reports and she tried to ignore him. The paperwork he had to fill out was in his lap, forgotten upon watching his new partner work. She was fascinating. The way her fingers played with the edges of the papers. The way her brow furrowed when she concentrated.

It was cute.

She glanced up at him and he didn't bother looking away. "_What_?" she demanded, irritation laced in her voice. He leaned forward, quirking an eyebrow up.

"Just the way your eyebrow furrows when you concentrate," he replied smoothly, seductively whilst puckering his lips; something that didn't go unnoticed by Kate Beckett. He shrugged. "It's cute."

She took the bait, leaning forward as well, biting her lip in response. Before he knew it, they were a mere four inches from each other separated only by air and tension. "Why are you here, Rick? Don't you have something better do to? Like, I don't know, the paperwork sitting in your lap." Her eyes narrowed when he smirked.

"You're way more interesting than paperwork."

Was that a blush? Kate leaned back in her chair like a flash of lighting and spun around so she couldn't see her face. He bit his lip, examining the slump of her shoulders, how her back expanded as she struggled to take in breath. Was she flustered? Did he do that?

Finally, she swiveled so he could see her profile once more. No blush, just annoyance.

He liked her. He really, _really_ liked her.

"Yeah, well, it's creepy, just so you know."

Before he had a chance to reply, her desktop phone rang. He sat up straighter while she picked up the phone, pressing it to her ear. "Beckett," she clipped. There was a muttering on the other side with words Rick couldn't understand. Beckett grabbed a pen and scribbled on a post-it note next to a parade of elephant figurines.

The phone was slammed back on the receiver; she didn't even spare Rick a glance before she was up and popping the collar of her leather jacket. God, he loved leather. He had never loved leather more than he did so right now. He followed just shortly after her, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.

Only his right arm was in the sleeve when her voice stopped him.

"What are you doing?"

He gave her a look, confused. "We have a case?" he voice sounded unsure, more so than he really wanted it to sound. Rick Rodgers was not unsure of anything. Ever. It was what made him charming, broody, and irresistible.

"No," she replied flatly, smirking at him. "_I_ have a case. You have _paperwork_." She nodded to the stack of papers he had left on the seat. One sheet had fallen to the ground and the others were quickly slipping, like an alcoholic in a bar. God, he was going to have to organize that. Son of a b-

She made a sound with her tongue then whispered, "_Ouch_."

Detective Kate Beckett spun on her heel, clicking off to the elevator, leaving him in a trail of dust and hair. He glanced back at the paperwork, then to Montgomery's office, and then to the elevator door that closed with a cheery 'ping'! He smirked, walked over to the chair and gathered the paperwork in a hurry. He'd do them on the way over there. In traffic. Yeah.

Who was he kidding?

He was never one for taking orders anyway.

* * *

><p>Rick squatted over the dead body of Marvin Fisk, biting his lip in concentration. In the office building of their small-claims lawyer, Rick studied Fisk, who was lying on his stomach, arms and legs outstretched.. There was an intricate lapping of chalk under his body; he was lying in between the points of a hastily drawn star. At each of the five points held a small candle. This was a ritualistic murder.<p>

He wondered if he had any claims before he was shot and killed

"You the new guy?" a gruff voice asked from above him. Rick looked up to see a burly Latino man, with a shaven head, brown eyes, wearing a form-fitting shirt and a nice pair of jeans, glaring down at him. Rick coughed and stood up, wiping his hands on his pants, a nervous tic he couldn't ever shake.

"Yeah," Rick extended a hand. "Rick Rodgers."

"Javier Esposito," he replied, firmly shaking it. When they broke apart, Rick rubbed his hand absentmindedly, and noticed Esposito noticing – and the little smirk that went with it.

Another man with a sweater vest and slacks walked up to them, flipping through a notepad. He glanced up at the two and mild surprise crossed his features when he noticed Rick. "Are you Beckett's new partner?" he asked. Rick nodded, wondering how they knew about Beckett's new partnership and she hadn't. Ryan offered his hand. "I'm Kevin Ryan."

"Rick Rodgers."

The detective nodded and then continued on, already accepting Rick as a part of the team. "Marvin Fisk, 42, small-claims lawyer." Ryan considered the office: there were large paneled windows to Rick's right; filing cabinets lined every two of the walls perpendicular to the windows; the desk was a mess, papers stern about, pens teetering on the edge, and the lamp knocked over; shattered glass of picture frames littered the floor. And then there was Marvin Fisk.

"This is his office," Ryan went on after a pause.

"Looks like angry Wickens out for blood," Rick mused, rubbing the scruff on his chin. The two detective counterparts glanced at each other. Rick turned to them and chuckled. "I have a bit of an imagination," he explained, shrugged. "My mother is an actress."

"O-kay," Esposito gave him an awkward look and Ryan coughed. The trio looked back down at the body. Rick wondered what time Kate Beckett was going to show up at the same moment Esposito announced, "Where's Beckett?"

They glanced to the front of the office, littered with Uniforms and residents from the M.E.'s office. Just a beat later, the familiar clicking of heels approached. Detective Beckett flashed her badge to an officer, giving him a small, unemotional smile before entering the office, her eyes already searching for the body.

Instead, her eyes found his.

Rick smirked. Oh, this was going to be fun.

The color drained from her face, eyes widened, mouth dropped, and she rushed over, the clicking of her heels uneven on the hardwood. "Wha-what are you doing here?" she sputtered, not even seeing the body she was almost stepping on.

"Careful," he cautioned and took her elbow, gently guiding her to his side, feeling his hand spark with electricity, even though he was only touching her jacket. "Don't wanna contaminate the body," he added. Her eyes glanced from his face to the boys standing behind him – their own shock evident from the outburst of their otherwise collected boss – then down the floor where poor Marvin Fisk laid, dead and cold.

She looked up at him, her face slowly going back to the composed, impassive look he was already used to.

"You had paperwork," she whispered hotly.

He leaned into her, as if they were sharing some sacred secret. She pursed her lips and glared. Slowly, he brought the paperwork out from the inside of his jacket, crinkled and torn at the edges from their harsh ride over to the crime scene. "Did it on the way over here," he smirked, quirking an eyebrow.

Her gaze fell into a glare and she snatched the paper away from him. She flipped through it, seeing all of his hastily written signatures. "Did you even read them?" she asked, stepping away from him. So, she could feel it too … the heat, the spark, radiating off their bodies when they stood too close.

He shrugged. "I skimmed them."

"On the way over here?"

Her response was a wink.

* * *

><p>Tired, Rick felt like his shoes were full of bricks as he slowly made his way down the hall to the loft. He held up his keys, studying them one by one before he finally found the correct one to unlock the door. Hanging his jacket, slipping off his shoes, and he finally felt the tension of the day seep out of him like sweat after a workout.<p>

The case had gone nowhere. While he was finishing up his paperwork in Montgomery's office, Beckett had called Martin Fisk's family. A weeping daughter and mother later, he could see just a flash of grief across her face when she put the phone down. She was not as hard as she put off – an interesting characteristic of his new partner.

He made his way to the living room and his eyes immediately widened upon seeing the flash of red hair from his couch. He had to get out of here. Without her noticing. Ninja-style. The floor creaked and his cursed himself. So much for ninja-style. "Richard," the squeal of his soon-to-be ex-wife called.

He bit his lip, looked up the Heavens, and shook his head, walking over to the couch. He took his seat next to Meredith and looked at her. She looked good – just as good as she did when he married her. Her hair was elegant, flowing down her shoulders like a waterfall set on fire. Her makeup was flawless, and matched her deep red dress perfectly. Red – he remembered reading an article that said red was the color to wear to get men aroused.

He wondered if she was clever enough to know that.

"Hello, Kitten," she leaned forward to kiss him but he turned away. Nope, definitely not, he thought. She pouted dejectedly and sat back up against the back of the couch, crossing her legs in the process.

"What do you want, Meredith?" he asked harshly. "Where's Alexis?" He glanced at the clock. 10:47. Alexis should be in bed. God, she had better be in bed, upstairs, in her dinosaur-themed room, with the T-Rex nightlight on. But it was too quiet. Something was off in this house.

Meredith waved him off. "I dropped her off at Martha's an hour ago," she dismissed his question. "I thought maybe we could have a little … _alone_ time." She rested her hand on his upper thigh, biting her lip. Aroused darkness appeared in her eyes and he felt bile make its way into his throat. How did he live with this woman for two years? He was absolutely repulsed now.

He shifted away and stood up. "What do you mean, you dropped her off? _Meredith_." He rubbed a free hand down his face. "You told me that you wanted joint-custody. That means you actually have to _take care of her_. God." Meredith rose to her feet and rested her hands on her hips.

The red dress now matched the angry-red tint flaming her pale cheeks.

"Well, what do you expect, Richard!" she screamed at him. "She's my daughter and I love her but I am a working, single mother now. I have to take every job I can get."

He threw his arms out in the air. "And what am I, Meredith?" he yelled right back. "If you don't remember, I did just start a new job today. I can't just take off every time you break a nail or have an audition. You're the one who pushed for joint-custody. You need to take responsibility."

She rolled her eyes and sneered, "Oh, please. You know that you just do that job for fun. You don't even need a _real_ job. Not with your money."

He glared at her and his hand shot out, grabbing her arm. "Go," he told her. "Get out of my house." Her heels clacked along the hardwood of the floor without a particular rhythm as she tried to resist him. "Go to California or wherever your next low-budget, grade C movie will be shot and don't come back." She huffed, shocked. "Oh, and I'm getting full custody," he added as an afterthought. He pushed her out the door

"Goodbye, Meredith."

Her rustled hair, rumpled clothes and wide, furious eyes disappeared as he slammed the door, the echo reverberating off of the tall ceilings of the loft.

After a moment of breathing, he rubbed his forehead, feeling a migraine. God, he needed a drink. And Excedrin. And maybe a punching bag. Then sleep. Making his way to his office, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed his mother's apartment. She picked up on the second ring, just as he pulled out the bottle of Scotch he kept locked in his bottom desk drawer.

"Richard?" his mother's hushed voice answered, as he sat in on the top of his desk, spinning it around to read the label: 1992. Yeah, it was old enough.

"Hey, Mom," he reverted back to his teenage years, before he felt like he was too old for a 'Mom.' He sighed. "I'm sorry about Meredith. I had no idea she dropped Alexis off. I'm on my way to pick her up now."

His mother scoffed on the other line. "I was expecting it. Don't worry, Richard. She's already sleeping. You sound exhausted. Have a drink, write a little, and go to bed. I have the day off tomorrow so I'll take her to the park, okay? Maybe the museum if we get early enough. I'll drop her off around six tomorrow night so make sure you're home."

Rick nodded, hearing the weariness in her voice, feeling his throat clog. He was a horrible father. He couldn't even take care of his own kid.

"Okay."

"Richard," his mother whispered, catching the evident exhaustion in his tone. He could hear the sad smile in her voice. "You're doing the best you can." She paused, and then changed the subject. "How was work?"

Why did he feel so defeated? Because his wife had cheated on him? Because they were divorcing? Because they had gotten married? Because he claimed he was going to get full-custody despite the fact that he had horrible working hours? Was he that different from Meredith, really? Was it really just that morning he was confident and charming, checking out Kate Beckett's ass?

"It went fine, Mother," he replied, pushing the questions aside. "I was assigned to a Detective Kate Beckett as my partner."

"Oh?" his mother's voice rose in pitch. "And how is _she_?"

He smirked, remembering the way she pulled her leather jacket on, flipping her hair out from under her collar; her four-inch spike heels clicking away as she left him hanging; her shock when she saw him at the crime scene. His mind drifted from his failed marriage to his (hopefully) successful partnership. "She's … _something_," he chuckled. "We're going to have fun."

"Well," Martha mused. "At least you won't have to worry about her getting into your wife's pants." Ouch, that stung, he thought as his heart clinched with her words. He knew she meant nothing by them but … "You just have to worry about keeping it in your _own_." He could hear the accusation in her voice and he had to laugh.

That was his mother.

He looked down to see the Scotch bottle resting on top of his desk, next to a manuscript and his laptop. He needed that drink. And writing always took the edge off a long day. "I will see you tomorrow, Mother," he offered.

"Goodnight, kiddo."

"Goodnight."


	3. Scared You'll Like It?

**I don't own Castle.**

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><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 2 – "Scared You'll Like It?"<em>

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><p>A rapping on the door outside the Castle loft was silenced by the unlatching of a lock with a slight click. The sound reverberated throughout the living room and attached kitchen. The sharp clicking of heels echoed as well as swishing hips, tight black dress, and all-business sauntered into Richard Castle's room.<p>

"Rick."

Rick flopped over in his king-sized bed. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains and he once again reminded himself he needed to buy dark curtains. He hated when any kind of light was in his face. The sheets tightened around his chest and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to avoid waking up.

"Richard Castle." Someone slapped his calf and he sat up, surprised, his cop instinct kicking in. The sheet fell away to reveal his muscular chest with a few patches of hair in between his pectorals. Rubbing his eyes, he noticed the guest leaning up against his bed. He scratched his head sheepishly.

"Gina," he greeted, tiredly. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand beside his bed. It blinked back 6:32. "Gina," he muttered, somewhat reserved. "What … what are you doing here? It's six in the morning." He flopped back down on the bed, and she sighed, rolling her eyes.

"I know very well what time it is, Rick," she growled.

"Then why are you still here?" he asked, running a hand down his face, trying to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. Clearly, he was getting up now. "I don't have to be at work until 8:30, Gina. This couldn't have waited?"

He heard her huff; she replied, "No, Richard _Castle_, it could not have waited. You're three weeks behind on your manuscript. Black Pawn is antsy. And that makes me pissed."

Rolling his eyes, Rick sat back up and looked into her eyes. "Gina, you do know that I just started a new job-"

"Yes, yes, yes," she sneered. "The new job. The new life. New, new, new. You better add 'new book' into that line of 'new,' Richard." She narrowed her eyes, smirked. "You don't want to return your advance, do you?"

With that, she spun around, heading to the front entrance, thinking that she won. "Try a different threat next time, Gina," Rick called after her. She turned back with a pointed look. "I'm already returning that advance. I'm using it to divorce Meredith, the best friend _you_ set me up with." His eyes sparkled with sarcasm. "Congratulations, you really know how to pick 'em."

She glared and then stomped away.

When he heard the front entrance close, he flopped back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His manuscript was just one more thing to add on his To-Do List. Never mind the murder he was supposed to solve or the daughter he needed to take care of. As long as the book got done…

He had been fresh out of ideas for months now.

During his two weeks off while the paperwork was processing for his transfer, he had sat at the park, mulling and brainstorming over a notebook. However, most of those moments were interrupted – _thankfully_ – by his adorable daughter who needed help going down the slide.

He had never experienced Writer's Block before.

Ugh, it sounded awful – just thinking it.

Pushing the thoughts away, he glanced at the clock. 6:48. Might as well get up, he thought. He could stop by his mother's on the way to the Precinct and see Alexis, buy them some breakfast. Yeah, that's what a good dad would do. He kicked off his comforter, not bothering to make it up; Meredith always had to have the bed made before they left the house in case guests came over. It was a bachelor's pad now; he didn't need to make his bed.

In the bathroom, Rick stripped down at stepped into the hottest shower he could manage. Washing the sleep out of his eyes, he rubbed his forehead, pushing away another headache. He never had taken that Excedrin, he remembered. After a fifth of Scotch and a paragraph or two later, he had crashed until 3 A.M., drooling on his desk, until he managed to stumble his way to his bedroom.

He flipped the shower off, made his way through the steam and dried off in front of the 'His' mirror. Tired eyes, rumbled hair, and a depressed expression stared back at him. He cocked his head to the side. He had to get rid of his mood, this funk, this depression, before he went to work. He had a partner to impress. And a murder to solve.

He couldn't be whining about an instable home life, a wrecked marriage, an unfinished manuscript.

That wasn't what Richard "Castle" Rodgers would do.

* * *

><p>"Daddy!"<p>

The shriek of his little girl brought the first real smile to Rick Castle's face as he unlocked his mother's apartment door. He squatted down the ground, gingerly setting down the drink carrier of coffee and chocolate milk and bag of glazed doughnuts. The little girl with bright red hair crashed into his arms and he fell back on to the ground by the force.

"Pumpkin," he greeted, kissing her forehead. He brought her out of the hug and looked into her crystal blue eyes that matched his perfectly. God, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "Did you have fun with Grandma?"

She bobbed her head up and down with enthusiasm. "Gram is takin' me to the park, Daddy!" she exclaimed. "Are you gonna come too?" He shifted himself so his legs were crossed, Alexis's little legs wrapped around his waist, arms thrown around his neck.

He gave his daughter a sad smile and ran his fingers through her hair, taking in her "boy" footie-pajamas with a roaring dinosaur and hopeful smile. He didn't want to break that smile. But he would. Just like Meredith. He was just like her, wasn't he? How the hell was he going to get full-custody?

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he whispered softly. "Daddy started a new job, remember?" Her expression fell and she bit her lip sadly, nodding. He amended, "But, I'm coming to pick you up tonight. And hear a pizza and ice cream movie night calling our names." He grinned at her.

"Daddy," the girl giggled. "Pizza and ice cream can't talk."

He kissed her forehead, noticing his mother leaning up against the island in her kitchenette. "I love you so much, Alexis," he told her.

She gave him a toothy grin. "I love you too, Daddy."

"Is that coffee I smell?" Martha asked, knowing just the right moment to speak. She always had a way with coming in at just the right moment – must be a trait of an actress, he thought.

"Yeah," Rick laughed, swinging up his daughter on one hip, balancing the drink carrier and bag of doughnuts in the other. "Coffees for the actress and detective." He set Alexis down on top of the counter, the food and drinks next to her. He leaned down and kissed his mother's cheek. "Chocolate milk for our little paleontologist. And doughnuts, of course."

Alexis was happily digging through the bag, her face already covered with frosting as Martha reached for her coffee. Rick followed his mother's lead and picked up his own, savoring the taste of the bitter liquid in his mouth. Coffee was sometimes the only thing that got him through a day. Being a father, detective, and novelist was a lot of work – fun too – and coffee was like a precious energy reviver from a video game.

"Daddy," Alexis said after she swallowed the last of her first doughnut, already reaching for another. "What's a pa… pa…"

"Paleontologist?" he offered with a grin, loving how her adorable little button nose scrunched when she was confused.

"Yeah!"

* * *

><p>"Good morning, Detective," Rick greeted as he plopped down in the seat next to her desk. Kate Beckett greeted him with a glare, obviously, still upset about the stunt he pulled at the crime scene the day before. "Come on, Beckett," he added. "Just 'cause somebody's dead doesn't mean you have to be grumpy."<p>

"Oh, you want to see _grumpy_?" she replied, giving him a pointed look. "What about showing up at my crime scene yesterday before you had your paperwork finished?"

He rolled his eyes. "_Our_ crime scene," he chorused. "And it _was_ finished. I did it in the car." He took a sip of his coffee.  
>"Like it or not, I'm your partner now."<p>

She set her pen down, breaking eye contact. She spun her chair so she was facing him head-on. Today, she was wearing a black turtleneck with matching black slacks, her long hair the lone flash of color to her attire.

"We are not partners," she whispered harshly, glancing around the room to make sure no one noticed. "We work together but we are not partners. We won't _ever_ be partners, Rodgers."

He leaned forward as well so they were only separated by four inches of air. He could feel her breath tickle the stubble on his chin. God, she had gorgeous eyes. "Why are you so determined to keep me at arm's length?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied sarcastically. "Maybe because of the playboy, love-'em-and-leave-'em vibe I got off of you when _you kissed my hand in front of everyone_. Oh, and when you check me out every time I even _breathe_. I'm a trained detective, Rodgers. I spot these things, despite how subtle you try to be."

"That's what you're worried about?" he scoffed, leaning back into his chair. "I'm not your boyfriend, Beckett." He smirked. "Not yet, anyway."

He watched her eyes widen and look away, her face cracking just slightly. Grief flashed across her features for just a moment, before it retreated under layers of blushing fury and indifference. The smirk fell off of Rick's face; he had just crossed a line buried under the sand. So, Katherine Beckett had been hurt before. By someone she worked with.

After a moment, she whispered, "Don't think you know me."

He swallowed. "Work-husband, if you will," he amended, trying to make light of the conversation.

"Work-husband?" she scoffed. She picked her pen back up and jotted something down, her mouth forming just the briefest smile. "Please. We are not married."

"Scared you'll like it?"

She glared at him and she opened her mouth to reply but her desk phone cut off whatever she was going to say. She closed her mouth in a thin line and then flicked the phone off of the receiver. "Beckett," she greeted, tapping her pen on the stack of paperwork. Rick glanced back at their murder board.

Marvin Fisk.

He was an average father and husband, clean guy, with a good job, stable income, and who liked to eat at small diner by his office building. He wasn't having an affair. He did not have any known enemies. He wasn't stealing money from his company. He did not have any financial problems. He wasn't in the CIA.

So, why murder him? What was the point?

"Come on, Rodgers," Beckett sighed, sparing a glance to her captain's office where he was watching them with a straight face. She stood up and grabbed her leather jacket. "The M.E. has done her autopsy. She's got something for us."

He jumped to his feet and smoothed his corduroy jacket while she donned her own. God, her leather jackets were going to be the death of him. He pulled out his keys.

"We can take my car," he offered, shaking the keys so they made a sound like sleigh bells.

Kate snorted then, after popping her collar, pulled out her own set of keys. "In your dreams, Rodgers," she scolded and started heading to the elevator, her heels clipping on the hardwood. Rick smirked after her and had to jog to make it to the elevator before it closed.

"I really think we should take my car," he continued, referencing the day before. "I'm pretty sure I can get us there faster." She glared at him and he winked.

The elevator door pinged shut. As soon as the Precinct was out of sight behind closed doors, he was roughly shoved against one of the elevator walls. He lost his breath and blinked heavily. Kate Beckett was in his face – so close, in fact, that he could feel the wisps of her hair tickling his chin, her breath on his skin, the heat in her eyes. He gave her a crooked smile – one that always impressed women and she glared in return.

"Let's get something straight, _Rick_," she spat, her hands like ice through his thin shirt. "One, there is no 'we.' There is me and there is you. Captain Montgomery might have assigned you to work with me, but that does not make us partners. Two, we will always, and I mean, _always_, drive my car." She backed up, smoothed her jacket and stared the monitor that reported the floor they were on.

Rick remained pressed to the wall, deciding whether he should take her statement as a threat or challenge. Both?

When the elevator opened to the parking garage, Rick was just a step behind Kate's furious clacking heels. Her car beeped when she pressed the button on her keychain. They approached a non-descriptive black car with a broken headlight. She slammed her car door shut and he shook his head slightly before joining her inside.

A spring stabbed him in the middle of the back. He shifted and Beckett looked at him whilst biting the inside of her cheek in irritation, and he gave up. Her tires screeched as she slammed the gas petal; they exited the parking garage with a trail of fire to the busy New York intersection.

They sat bumper-to-bumper traffic in utter silence. Rick tried to look out the window and people-watch but the stack of cars lining the road made that task impossible. Finally, when he could take the silence no longer, he reached and flipped on her radio. Frank Sinatra's "Cry Me a River" came out blasting, pumping her speakers. Frank Sinatra?

Just how many layers were there to this Beckett onion?

She hesitated then quickly flipped it off. He saw her knuckles whiten as she squeezed the wheel. "Don't touch the radio," she commanded, biting the inside of her cheek again.

_That was cute_, Rick thought idly before complaining, "But it's so boring just sitting in here." He looked at her from his peripheral vision and tried not to grin. She was so pissed. He loved it. He was going to love pushing her buttons. He already did and he had only known her for a day.

"Get over it," she growled.

"Can we play twenty questions? You know, get to know each other…"

"No."

Rick sighed and tapped his fingers along the dash under the window. He let a moment pass before offering, "The fastest way to the M.E.'s office is this exit. We'll be there in ten. You probably want to turn up here." He pointed at the 66th Street exit and watched, unsurprised and mildly amused, as she passed it by without even a glance.

"No, I want to exit on 81st Street exit," she corrected, biting her words. "It'll cut the drive time in half."

He shrugged. "Fine, whatever you say, Becks."

"Don't call me Becks."

* * *

><p>It had taken almost an hour to finally reach the Medical Examiner's office.<p>

As Beckett stomped off ahead – probably to avoid seeing the gloat on his face – he stared at her ass. He wasn't ashamed. How could he be? He was merely enjoying the reward he received for being right. He had never been rewarded so well for being right in his life.

Kate slammed open the M.E.'s office, calling out, "Lanie!"

A black woman popped up from the top of their dead Marvin Fisk. She had short, permed hair, big brown eyes, delicate lashes, lush lips and a curvaceous body – she made the scrubs she was wearing look good. Rick Castle smiled charmingly at her.

"What do you got?" Kate asked.

Lanie grinned, staring at Rick. "First, tell me what _you've_ got."

Rick heard Kate sigh and then look back at him. "Rick Rodgers, this is Lanie Parish, Medical Examiner," she dead-panned. "Lanie" – she nodded to Rick – "Rodgers." Lanie slid her hand out of her latex glove and offered a hand. Rick took her hand firmly and shook it once up and down because he knew that Kate would notice.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Parish," he exclaimed.

"Lanie," she replaced. "Nice to meet _you_, Detective Rodgers."

"Rick."

The shared a laugh and released hands.

"Look, if you two want to grab a couple of drinks and flirt some more could you do it after hours? Some of us have a job to do." Rick grinned at his partner and Lanie pursed her lips, giving her friend a playful glare.

Lanie went back to their man. "Mr. Fisk was killed by two .38's to the chest." Lanie made her way back over to the table. "All the posing and what not was done postmortem. He died between 6 and 8 last night." She shrugged.

"Other than that, there's nothing interesting about the body. His stomach contents revealed that he had…" She picked up a clipboard and read, "A cheeseburger, fries, and Pepsi about an hour before he was killed. He had mild heart burn and bad knee but, other than that, the two bullets is all I got."

Kate sighed. "Okay, thanks, Lanie," she stated, already heading to the door. "Come on, Rodgers."

* * *

><p>At 5:30 that night, Rick stood up from his chair and threw his jacket on.<p>

Beckett looked up from her paperwork with a raised eyebrow.

Except for the hour Rick had taken to go find lunch – Kate declined going as well as a doggie bag – they had been working on the case nonstop. There was not any evidence pointing to anyone. They did not have any suspects whatsoever. In a perfect world, Marvin Fisk should not have been killed.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked, the first non-irritated tone of the day.

He nodded, and replied, "I have to pick up my daughter from my mother's. My ex-wife is not exactly living up to her half of joint custody." He shrugged. "I offered a movie night with pizza and ice cream. The works. She's excited and I can't let her down."

When he pulled out his keys, he looked into her eyes. They had widened with surprise.

"You're a father?"

He smiled. "Yeah. My daughter, Alexis, is two. She's the best thing that has ever happened to me." He pulled out his wallet, flipping until he found the professional pictures he and Meredith had done when Alexis had turned two in February. She was wearing a complementing beanie, her eyes bright blue.

She smiled at him, her surprise turning into the slightest affection upon seeing the little girl. She looked up at him, the affection remained. "That's really sweet, Rodgers. I never pegged you for Mr. Mom."

"It makes you want me, right?"

_And_, there's the eye-roll. She looked back down at her paperwork, her pen scribbling across the lines, without giving him a goodbye. He pocketed his wallet. After a beat of silence, Rick offered, "Until tomorrow, Detective."

She glanced at him. "You can't just say 'night'?"

"'Night' is boring," he told her honestly, smiling when she once again held his gaze. God, she had _gorgeous_ eyes. "'Until tomorrow' is more … hopeful."

"Well," she smirked playfully. "I'm a Homicide detective. 'Hopeful' isn't exactly in my vocabulary." She paused and he gave her a mischievous grin. "Night, Rodgers."


	4. Don't You Guys Read?

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 3 – "Don't You Guys Read?"<em>

* * *

><p>Marvin Fisk's murder went cold.<p>

After two more days of pondering, questioning, even cooperating from Kate Beckett, their investigation came up empty and another body dropped. Reluctantly, Richard Castle packed way his first Homicide case. Before dropping the box off in storage, however, he had copied all the pictures, reports, and files to study them at home. He wasn't going to let this Marvin Fisk go. He couldn't.

The following two weeks were a blur.

Rick spent a majority of his time at work. They had gone through three more cases, all easy – a jealous girlfriend, an abusive husband, and revengeful drug dealer were all now behind bars. He and Beckett exchanged witty comebacks and sexual innuendo throughout the day. It seemed that she was finally warming up to him – not in the let's-be-partners way but more in the I-guess-I-can-tolerate-you way. At their first arrest, she even gave him a nod when he slapped the cuffs on their jealous girlfriend.

Kate Beckett was an extremely closed-off woman. She didn't reveal anything. He noticed the watch on her wrist that she would fiddle with every so often and the necklace she would tuck away quickly before anyone could notice she had pulled it out in the first place. He knew she loved Grande Skim Lattes with two pumps of Sugar-free vanilla because they had stopped at Starbucks – _twice_ – before heading out to an early crime scene together. He also knew that she loved reading mystery novels because he saw the spine of both a Patterson and Canell novel sticking out of her purse.

He wondered, briefly, if she had read any of his novels.

All his other waking moments were spent with his adorable daughter, Alexis. Meredith "had" to fly to Los Angeles for an audition, so, he and Alexis had been spending even more time together than normal. He didn't mind. He would spend all day with his beautiful daughter if he didn't have to work.

He had off Sundays so he and Alexis spent almost all of them going through different parts of the museum. The first Sunday after he started his new job, he took her to the dinosaur exhibit because that was her favorite. After an obscene amount of time in the place, they had left for ice cream. The next week, they went to space – Alexis was a nerd, just like her father, and they pretended they were characters from _Star Wars_, running amuck throughout the place. This week, he planned on taking her to see the Native American exhibit to play Cowboys and Indians.

They had watched Disney princess movies and he recited stories to her as she fell asleep. He made her spaghetti with garlic bread, homemade pizza with cheese and pineapple (because pineapple was her favorite food), and all her other favorites, disregarding Meredith's complaint that she would "be too fat" when she got older. They played with her baby dolls and Barbie figurines, dressing them up, making them date, and feeding them. He made her a turkey sandwiches with carrot sticks, apples, and chocolate-chip cookies on the side for her packed lunches. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, she went to a daycare program sponsored by the preschool she would go to when she turned four. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, his mother watched over her – taking her to dress rehearsals, the park, and even watching SpongeBob on the couch in her apartment.

The first week after the Fisk case went cold, Rick contacted his lawyer to see about full-custody. He had only talked to Meredith once since their fight and they hadn't spoken of his announcement. He knew she was going to fight it but he was going to fight back. That woman didn't deserve their daughter.

Then again, he didn't either.

His lawyer told him that he would have to find a witness to testify on his behalf. The person would have to tell a jury that he displayed great character qualities and that he – though his job had horrendous hours – was capable of taking care of his daughter on his own. The person could not be family.

Rick had clicked off that phone call with less hope than he had when he called him.

The phone ringing brought Rick out of his thoughts. He glanced down at his phone and waited for his eyes to adjust. He had been typing for nearly two hours – mostly crap that wasn't ever going to be published but at least there was that. Kate Beckett had been a big help to his Writer's Block… but most of the paragraphs he typed were inappropriate without substance. Verbal masturbation.

Eh.

Seeing the caller ID, he smirked and pressed the phone up to his ear.

"Good evening, Detective Beckett," he announced.

"Got a body," his partner clipped, ignoring his greeting. She told him the address and he jotted it down on the edge of a manuscript covered with red ink. He fiddled with the edges and she said, "See you there" before clicking off.

It was a Tuesday night and Alexis had wanted to say with her grandmother despite the fact that Rick was on call and had been eager to spend time with her. Martha had waved him off, telling him to go get some work done because Gina had started calling her and she was tired of hearing that "blonde-bimbo's nasally voice." So, he didn't have to worry about dragging her anywhere when she was already asleep.

The body was a welcome distraction and Rick was quick to throw on a pair of form-fitting jeans, plaid shirt, and jacket grabbing his keys, badge, gun, and cell phone before heading out of the door. He left Martha a voicemail, telling her that he was going out to a scene just so she would know in case Alexis asked and then he called for a cab.

He hated driving at night; it wouldn't be the first time he rolled up to a scene in a yellow dog rather than his black Honda Civic.

It started to sprinkle when he slammed the door of the bright yellow cab shut. "Where to?" came the voice of his driver, a balding Italian man who smelled like cigars and sweat.

Rick gave him the address then sighed, sitting back in the seat. He pulled out his phone and checked the time: almost 9:30. This was going to be a long night, he figured. Beckett hated taking breaks between cases. She would probably stay all night and crash in the break room for an hour and then get right back to the murder. Luckily, she never condemned him for skipping out earlier than everyone else. Sure, he technically got off at a certain time every day but only a couple of the detectives followed that rule religiously and they all had families at home waiting for them.

As they stopped at a red light, Rick ran a hand down his clean-shaven face, trying to rid himself of the fatigue he felt after a day of doing absolutely nothing but playing Mahjong Tiles and staring at a blank document, trying to conjure up a murder to solve in 300 pages.

The taxi driver pulled up onto the scene and Rick paid the man a hefty tip before popping the collar on his jacket and emerging out of the vehicle.

Uniforms were canvassing the area and he nodded to Officer Johnson – an extremely tall black man with a great sense of humor and amazing observation skills; he was the only one – outside of Ryan and Esposito – who hadn't given him a glare upon walking into the Precinct for the first time.

The Twelfth had somewhat of a hazing period before detectives and new Uniforms were accepted as part of the "work-family."

"What do we have, Johnson?" he asked the man as they fell in to step beside each other.

"Allison Tisdale," the man replied, opening the door to the apartment building, "daughter of real estate mobile Jonathon Tisdale."

Rick looked up at the grand entrance of the apartment building. It had the feel of a Hilton hotel – a sparkling chandelier fell close to the top of a giant fountain in the middle of the lobby. The walls had a golden tint, giving the room a mysterious and romantic feel. There was a front desk off to his right with three well-dressed young women talking to Uniforms. A lounging area and bar were off to his right. The bartender was talking to his own Uniform, waving his hands in pronunciation of the point he was making.

"Daddy's money," Rick commented, sounding almost like a question.

Johnson nodded. "Yeah," he sighed. He wiped his eye. "Man, if I had this kind of money…"

Rick chuckled and taunted, "You working hard for the money, Proud Mary?"

Johnson gave him a good-natured glare and nudged Rick with his shoulder. "Shut up, Rodgers," he growled.

The two parted ways with a fist-bump at the elevator. Johnson was needed to help canvass the area and Rodgers pressed the 'up' button to head up to the floor their Allison Tisdale was killed. He was the only one in the elevator and his phone rang loudly, echoing off of the small space.

He saw the caller ID and answered, "Mother, I am almost-"

"Daddy?" Alexis's small voice broke in. He could hear fear and tears.

Immediately, his face softened; all annoyance that his mother called flew out the window. This was his little girl – he could never be annoyed when she called. The elevator pinged open but, after seeing the parade of Uniforms and medical personnel milling about, he closed it quickly and went up another floor to a much quieter atmosphere. He exited and leaned up against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest.

"Alexis," he whispered lovingly. "What's wrong, sweetie? Why aren't you in bed?"

She bubbled, "I had a bad dream, Daddy."

Alexis had a problem with nightmares. Rick had never dreamed much as a kid but Alexis was constantly babbling about the friends she made, the mysteries she solved, or the adventures she went on in her fantastic dreamland. But, then other times, she would crawl into Rick's bed, sobbing because the Boogie Man ate him or Mommy had left with a dragon or she was all alone, in a world full of black.

"Oh, sweetie," he murmured, "I'm so sorry, baby. Where's Gram?"

She sniffled across the line and Rick's heart snapped into a million little pieces. "She's sleeping, Daddy," Alexis whispered, her voice shifting as – he assumed – she looked back to his mother's room. "I don't want her to get mad. And I can't sleep now, Daddy. Will you come get me? You make the nightmares go away…"

He smiled softly. "I can't, pumpkin," he mumbled. "I have to catch bad guys." He could hear her sigh softly, disappointedly, on the other end. "But," he tried to reason. "Go and wake up your grandma. She won't be mad, Alexis. She's a parent, too, just like your daddy. She can make the nightmares go away."

He was met with silence on the other end of the phone.

"Alexis?" he asked after a moment, his heart jumping to his throat.

The other end of the phone rustled and he hear a breath before his mother greeted, "She fell asleep, Richard." Rick sighed in relief, his heart hammering in his chest, panic quickly receding. "Don't worry, dear, I'll let her sleep with me tonight." He could hear his mother grunt as she picked up Alexis.

"Thank you, Mom," he said as he pushed himself off the ground. He looked at the elevator and then decided to take the stairs – it was only a flight down at he needed to do something to suppress the adrenaline now pumping through is veins. "Tell her I love her."

"Will do, darling."

They clicked off and he reached the floor of the crime scene at the same time. Most of the Uniforms had disappeared but there was an abundance of medical examiners still finishing up their own sweep. He saw Lanie walk out of a door just off to his right. She was looking down at her clipboard and he approached her.

"Evening, Dr. Parish," he greeted with a grin.

"Detective," she looked up from her clipboard. "Running a little late tonight?"

He shrugged. "Daughter had a nightmare. I had to make sure that the monsters weren't going to get her when she fell asleep again."

Lanie's eyes softened and she gave him a small smile. "That's so sweet, Rick."

He smirked. "So, what have you have for me about this Allison Tisdale?"

Lanie sighed and looked back down at her clipboard. She ran her pen along the lines of the paper she always seemed to be jotting on at the crime scenes. "She was shot twice in the chest with a .09 millimeter," she told him. "There are no signs of sexual activity despite her … lack of undress."

Rick quirked an eyebrow and asked, "What do you mean?"

She looked up at him. "You can see for yourself," she reckoned. "Beckett's trying to figure out where she's seen this scene before."

Now, he was _really_ confused.

Lanie didn't notice his expression and then walked along, with the wave her hand. He shook his head before approached Allison Tisdale's door. He passed a Uniform and clapped the man on the shoulder before entering the foyer of the apartment. The place was spacious and probably cost more than his apartment did. There were hints of femininity splashed the sophistication of the furniture, appliances, and art pieces – flowers, butterflies, and accents of hot pink.

The yellow tape brought him out of his revere and he approached the crime scene. The first thing he noticed were the rose petals that had randomly fallen to the tiled floor. Blood red. How symbolic.

He saw the backs of Ryan and Esposito and Kate, all high heels and leather jacket, squatting by a long dining room table.

Then, he saw Allison Tisdale.

She was completely naked, under a blanket of red rose petals. She had sunflowers in her eyes. Rick gasped, felt his heart drop down to his stomach. This was … no wonder Beckett had seen this scene before. If she read any of the most mystery popular novels, she would have seen this before.

Technically, she would have _read_ this scene before.

_Flowers for You Grave._

"Oh, come on, don't you guys read?" her voice was echoing his thoughts and Rick's wide eyes shifted back to his partner, who finally noticed he was standing there, gaping like a star struck Justin Bieber fan. "Rodgers?" Her expression read confusion and Rick tried to get his facial reaction under control. He was an anonymous writer, Richard Castle. No one knew about his books expect Black Pawn, Gina, Paula, Meredith, and his mother.

No one was supposed to know.

That was how he could work as a detective and write novels on the side. He had a best-seller right out of college and expressed interest in going to the police academy to do some research. While he shadowed a couple of the students, he completely fell in love with the real-life profession and two weeks later, he had joined, despite Black Pawn's obvious condemnation.

But he was jewel and they hadn't wanted to lose him.

When he didn't answer, Beckett rolled her eyes, wrote it off as one of his antics, and looked back at their girl. Her eyes snapped open and she gasped. "I know where I've seen this before. It's _Flowers for your Grave_."

Esposito and Ryan glanced at him and then at each other. "_Flowers for your Grave_?" Ryan offered. "Is that a book or something?"

"Yeah," Rick supplied, his voice finding this most inappropriate time to make its reappearance. "It's by Richard Castle."

He somehow chanced a look at Beckett. She looked stunned. "Wow," she approved. "I didn't know that you read, Rodgers."

He nodded. "Yeah, um, well," he looked between his fellow detectives who were all giving him strange looks. He was sure he looked terrible right now – somewhere between a recovering meth addict and a convicted criminal. "I … um." He sighed. "I need to go." He pointed to the entrance. "Over there."

He turned on his heel before any of them could speak. He was out of the door in a matter of seconds, almost knocking out two Uniforms. Calm down, he told himself. Calm down. It took all of his willpower not to sprint to the stairwell. When he door slammed shut behind him, he took off to the roof of the building. He needed air. He needed to get out of here.

What was he going to do?

Someone had killed a young girl like he had in his books.

What was he going to do?

Before he knew it, he was slamming open the door to the roof. Cool September air hit his face and he felt some of the anxiety disperse from his body. After a couple of breaths, he pulled out his phone, hit speed dial. He didn't know what he was going to do… but he knew someone who would.

"Rick?" the voice of his publisher came. "What the hell-"

"Gina," he interrupted, relief creeping into his voice. "We have a problem."


	5. All My Fan Mail is Disturbing

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 4 – "All My Fan Mail is Disturbing"<em>

* * *

><p>It took Gina all of three seconds to formulate a plan.<p>

"Okay," she calmly replied to his bubbling story about Allison Tisdale's murder and how it was an exact replica of the murder of his own real estate mobile in _Flowers for Your Grave_. "Okay," she repeated. Suddenly, Castle remembered the pictures of Marvin Fisk littering his desk back at home.

"Oh, my God," he mumbled.

"What?" Gina snapped over the phone.

"Marvin Fisk." Rick ran a hand down his face, pacing back and forth across the roof. He tripped on an exposed pipe and he shrieked, "Damn it!" He walked over to a wall and leaned his head back, trying to breathe, to calm down. Gina didn't need to ask again. She waited until he explained, "Marvin Fisk was the first investigation I was on. His murder went cold. But, now that I think about it…"

_Angry Wickens out for blood._

"It's from _Hell Hath No Fury_," he supplied.

There was a brief pause.

"Okay," Gina's voice came across composed with just a smidge of panic. "I need you to get out of that crime scene, Richard. Okay?" Rick mumbled an agreement and bobbed his head up and down, like Alexis did when she asked a question and Rick answered with vocabulary her two-year-old brain couldn't quite comprehend. "Meet me at the loft. We'll discuss this. I'm assuming Alexis is at Martha's?"

"Yeah," he bubbled.

"Meet me in half an hour."

She clicked off without a goodbye and it took Rick a second to pull the phone away from his ear. Someone was murdering people just he had in his books. In any other circumstance, it would be kind of awesome – a copycat? That was the badge of honor in the author-verse. But, murdering people then having to work the case while he lost his anonymous stature?

Not so much.

He ran a quick hand through his hair, and then straightened his jacket, trying to make sure he looked presentable before heading back down to the crime scene. He took the stairs to get rid of the last bit of panic pumping through his body. The stairwell was dark and creepy and he passed no one; he was grateful for the alone time.

By the time he got back down to Allison Tisdale's apartment, the boys and Beckett were finishing up their sweep. The boys were waiting on an elevator and Kate was on her phone, whispering softly into the receiver. He put on a guilty smile and headed over to them.

"Hey," he offered, standing next to the guys.

"Dude, what happened to you?" Esposito asked, giving him a look.

Rick gave him a wayward glance. His eyes shifted back to his partner, who snapped her phone shut just as he took a breath to reply. She walked over to them and raised an eyebrow upon seeing Rick, gaping like a fish out of water. "What happened to you, Rodgers?" she repeated Esposito's question. She smirked. "Murder too much for you?"

He glared. "_No_," he pronounced. "Actually." He shifted his face about into that guilty smile. "I got a call from Alexis. She just-" the scenarios, the lies, flashed through his head like a music montage from a romantic-comedy. "She got sick and I need to go home. I'll come back tomorrow?"

The fib came easily enough but he wasn't sure if Beckett would believe him. She narrowed her eyes for a second and he figured he knew that she was lying. However, managing to surprise him, she replied, "Okay, Rodgers. See you tomorrow. We can finish up here."

He sighed visibly when she looked to the boys. He turned around and headed back to the stairs, not wanting to ride down on the elevator with him. He didn't want them to ask too many questions.

"Esposito, Ryan," he heard Beckett say to the boys. "I need the phone number to Black Pawn." Rick felt the hairs on the back of neck stand on end. He slowed down and hesitated on the handle of the stairwell. She finished, "I'm going to pay our Richard Castle a little visit in the morning."

Oh.

Shit.

* * *

><p>Gina had beaten Rick to his apartment.<p>

He slowly let himself in, trying to keep himself calm. He had kept up this double life for more than five years – and now someone outside of the immediate informed few was about to know. The whole Precinct was going to know. He was going to lose his job. Or worse, he was never going to live down the fact that he was a writer.

In the beginning, he thought about going about his real name – or, having his name changed to 'Castle.' The fame was tempting when he was 22. He had sent in the manuscript for his first novel (and best-seller), _In Hail of Bullets_, just before his 23rd birthday. He had been rejected from six different, low-end agencies. Then, on a whim (and in a drunken stupor), he sent the draft in to Black Pawn.

They accepted the manuscript. They accepted _him_.

He decided to write under the name "Richard Castle" so he could improve his writing and – when he was a seasoned author – he could come out under his real name. His book debuted on the top of the New York Times Bestseller List and Rick was an instant success – if not his attention to detail and gruesome murder, then definitely the mystery of the man behind the penname. No one knew who he was – and that made him successful in itself.

A mystery within a mystery.

When Black Pawn came back with an agent and a deal, Rick knew that he needed to come up with a better outlet for writing. He used to write so he didn't have to study – but, after graduating college and spending most of his money of trivial things (jet ski, Ferrari, spot on the moon, etc.), he needed to come up with a better way of putting words onto paper.

So, he met an old buddy who went into the Police Academy.

After the first day of observing and writing on a notepad, Rick went home, called his mother, and told he was joining. He joined two weeks later – after a full ten days caged up in his apartment writing most of the manuscript for his second novel. The Force had given him a rush, a pump of adrenaline – learning gave him the details he needed. Solving mysteries, putting killers behind bars, giving victim's justice was so satisfying. Made him feel good about himself.

Almost better than sex.

And, man, did girls love a guy in uniform.

When he turned 24, he met and married Meredith, had Alexis, and made detective at the Seventeenth Precinct. For that first year, everything went well – exceedingly better than he expected. He had a beautiful wife, a stunning daughter, and a great job that provided him with copious amounts of inspiration and research.

However, just two months after his 27th birthday, he and Meredith split up. He transferred a month later to the Twelfth.

Since that first novel, he had released 11 more bestsellers. Two of his earlier novels included their murderer's favorites – _Hell Hath No Fury_ and _Flowers for Your Grave_.

"I've come up with a plan," Gina paced the floor, her heels clicking. Rick nodded, leaning against the backside of his leather couch. She turned to him, smirking. "This is it: let her come, win her over with charming self." His eyes narrowed in confusion. He started to protest but she beat him to it. "Call in sick tomorrow. Your partner will come here and you'll interview her, just like she wants."

"I think the stress if finally getting to you," he dead-panned. She glared. He sneered, "Gina! If she comes here tomorrow – which she _will_ – what am I going to say? I could lose my job. You know that, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't even know why you stay there," she whispered and he shot his own glare. She held up her hands in defense. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Justice and whatnot." Her lips pursed together. Then, she brightened her eyes. "I'll call the mayor. He's been dying to find out who Richard Castle is. I tell him, you meet him. He can call the captain."

Rick hesitated, and then nodded. "That'll work," he replied, thinking of all the people that would now be added to the pool of "people-who-know." He asked, "But what about Beckett?"

Gina bit her lip and then gave him one of her award-winning grins. "Do what I said before," she replied. "Just be your charming self."

* * *

><p>The knock came promptly at 9 the next morning.<p>

Rick sighed and heard Gina's clicking heels across the hardwood of the living room. He spun around in his office chair, away from the door, and he straightens his purple-collared dress shirt and he ran his sweaty hands down his slacks. He didn't know why he was nervous. In fact, Kate was the one who should be nervous.

She, after all, was a fan.

He had called her the night before, bending over his toilet, flushing it, pretending like he himself had just thrown up. He blamed it on Alexis – _poor girl_ – and said that it was a pretty heavy flu bug making its way around. He heard Beckett roll her eyes when she told him that he didn't have to use his daughter as an excuse to wake up late after a scandalous night of…

He didn't deny it – didn't need to. If she wanted to come up with her own stories, that was fine. He asked her if she was still planning on interrogating Richard Castle the next day, which she confirmed. In her voice, instead of that annoyance he heard when she talked to him, he heard a hint of excitement.

This interview was going to be fun.

And the look on her face?

Priceless.

So, why were his emotions a contradiction? "Richard Castle" had always been a deep secret – a character close to his heart. "Richard Castle" was everything that Richard Rodgers lacked. "Richard Castle" was fantasy. He wasn't sure how he felt about letting in even more people into this world he had crafted over the years.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a knocking at the door.

He coughed, pulled the collar of his shirt and answered, "Yes, what is it, Gina? I am _trying_ to write."

"There is a Detective Beckett here to see you, _Richard_," he heard the sarcasm leaking out of her voice.

He sighed dramatically – man, he had been hanging around his mother too much – and comically called out, "What's she wearing?"

There as a surprised pause before the doors burst open.

"Mr. Castle, my name is Detective Kate Beckett," Beckett started, irritated, before he turned around. "I'm here to ask you about a murder that happened yesterday night…"

Rick spun around in the chair and we watched as Kate's perfectly crafted features fall open one by one. First, her eyes widened. Then, her mouth dropped. He watched her nostrils flair with irritation. A blush stained her cheeks. Her hair – up in a tight bun – seemed to fall just slightly at the stretch of her face. Her flawless outfit of turquoise boat-neck shirt and khaki pants seemed to come a little undone.

He smirked, giving her a charming smile and twinkle of the eye.

"Detective Beckett," he greeted, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion. "I … um," she stuttered and Rick tilted his head, giving her an innocent smile. She took a deep breath and then she was all business. Huh, he thought. He thought she would be shocked longer than this.

"Very funny," she said dryly.

He rolled his eyes at her. "I'm not joking, Detective." He gently rested his feet on the top of his desk. Kate pursed her lips and then she marched over to him, shoving his feet off. He bounced, trying to catch is balance. "You like it rough, huh?" he asked, meeting her eye.

"Look, Rodgers," she sneered, coming close to him. For good measure, she grabbed the collar of his purple shirt. He could feel the heat of her breath, the smell of her mint toothpaste, the aura of … was that cherries?

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing," he heard through the haze that was the presence that was Kate Beckett. "But I need to talk to Richard Castle. And I thought you were sick." She shoved away his collar and placed her hands on her hips, like a furious mother.

He chuckled. "I took off work because I needed to come up with a plan to meet you for this inevitable interrogation. I needed to prepare myself."

Now, she was coming around. He could see the wheels turning in her head, faster and faster until she was now running at the same speed he was. "But… you're a cop," she pointed out dumbly.

"Yep," he said, giving her a wink. "But you do know that Richard Castle is an anonymous writer?" He shrugged. "Well, Richard Castle is Richard Rodgers."

She opened her mouth, glanced at the ceiling, seemingly still perplexed by the newfound knowledge.

"So…" she started, and then paused, seeming to come up empty.

He smiled. "Care to take a seat, Detective," he offered, pointing a chair he had dragged in the office that morning. Beckett, without any joke, nodded and sat down. She slumped over, ran a hand down her face in frustration.

After a pause, she said, "Okay. So, tell me… who the hell are you?"

He laughed loudly.

"My name is Richard Rodgers," he started. "I am a detective at the Twelfth Precinct. On the side, I write under the anonymous penname Richard Castle. My books are extremely popular and I am a mystery everyone is interested in solving. Congratulations," he added and she narrowed her eyes. He moved on. "Someone has been killing people like I have in my books. We need to find out who that person is."

She sighed, rubbed the inside of her eyebrows. Then, she met his eyes. He could see the confusion was now just a fleeting memory. She believed him. She was still surprised, sure, but she no longer looked like someone had just been shot in front of her. She looked resolved and confident once more. Her back straightened and his partner returned.

"People…?" she offered, giving him a sly look.

He smirked. "Marvin Fisk, the first murder we worked on together?" he said, grabbing the file to his right. He laid out the pictures in front of her. "It's from…"

"_Hell Hath No Fury_," she supplied, gently resting her fingers on top of photograph of Marvin Fisk, lying in the white chalk of a witch's ritual drawing.

"It seems I have a fan," he couldn't take his eyes off her. The way her eyes shifted when she looked at a dead body – grief, horror, stricken, sad… everything she tried to hide.

"Yeah," she met his eye, giving him a glare when she caught him staring. "I really deranged fan."

"Oh, you don't look deranged to me," he taunted, looking back down at the picture of Marvin Fisk, waiting for her response. Even after two weeks, that little look she gave him when he teased her was still refreshing and so cute.

"What?" she asked, confused.

He met her eyes. "_Hell Hath No Fury_?" he supplied. "Angry Wickens out for blood? Come on." He chuckled, giving her a charming smile. Only hard-core Castle groupies have read that one."

She ran her tongue over her teeth, thinking.

"Do any of these… groupies, write you letters?" she asked, bypassing his tease.

He nodded slowly.

"Disturbing letters?"

"Oh," he sighed dramatically. "All my fan mail is disturbing. It's an occupational hazard."

"Because," she stuttered, a blush rising to her cheeks. He wondered: Just how big a fan was she? "Sometimes, in cases like this, we find that-"

"The killer tries to contact the subject of his obsession," he interrupted. "You forgot, detective that I am a detective as well."

Her face froze and the color slowly drained away from her face. "Right," she offered and swallowed loudly. "Will you… excuse me for a second? I need to make a call." She paused. "Get the mail. We'll go through it together."

He nodded and she quickly got up and ran out of the room. Gina should have already left by now. She was only supposed to greet Kate at the door and then take her leave – she had a meeting later that morning and she had to run back to her apartment to grab her notes.

Rick stood up, ran his hands down his pants once more. He shuffled around his office, pulling out a large box of fan mail. He stopped going through it after he had started his new job – he tried to answer back to all the crazy middle-aged women, begging for his identity but he didn't have time what with all the new in his life.

New life.

He took a deep breath, resting the box on top of his desk. So, now, his new partner knew is secret identity. Without a doubt, she was calling the captain now. Good thing that he and Gina had already called in to the mayor's office that morning – Rick now had a lunch date with the man later that week and Captain Montgomery already had the mayor's … request to keep him on the Force.

He wasn't sure how he felt about all the new additions to his secret life. Richard Castle was a character much like Richard Rodgers – but he was cockier, even more charming, and without a care in the world… a perfect life. Richard Rodgers was cocky and charming, sure, but his life was far from perfect. He had a marriage in the ruts, a daughter being raised by her grandmother, and a book that lay unfinished.

The door opened once again and Kate walked in, reeking of professionalism.

They met eyes and she gave him a small, sincere smile, like she read all of his thoughts while she was on the other side of the door. "Got that mail?" she offered after a very long moment of inappropriate staring. His breath shortened when he saw that she wasn't going to tease, to mock, or leave him.

_She wouldn't leave him. _

He gave her a grin.

"Yep," he patted the top of the box. "All the crazy you can want in a plastic tub."

Her laughter rang across the apartment.


	6. A Chain of Events

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 5 – "A Chain of Events"<em>

* * *

><p>"So, what got you into writing books?" Kate asked an hour later, after two cups of Castle-brewed coffee and half of the fan-mail piled off to the side of his desk.<p>

Rick looked up, surprised she even asked.

After a beat of silence, she met his eyes and raised an eyebrow, challenging him without words.

"Are you asking for the story, Detective?" he wondered sweetly, giving her a wink.

She rolled her eyes but the smile that graced her face was playful and flirty. He liked this side of Katherine Beckett. When they were at work, she was always so closed up, cold, and unemotional. She teased him and they swapped innuendo like most people swapped spit, but he knew it was for show. He liked this side of Kate. It was more Kate. Less Beckett.

"No," she dead-panned. "You're just annoying me."

He smirked.

Ah, there's the _Beckett_.

Almost two hours had passed since Kate waltzed through his office and had her little Castle-groupie mind blown when she realized that her partner was the famous (and mysterious) Richard Castle. She had taken less time to process the information than he thought she would, but, then again, it was Kate Beckett. He shouldn't have expected anything less – just her brief doubt, the "Very funny" should have surprised him.

He had poured her a cup of coffee, cleared off his desk, and they had been going through mail ever since. He had peeked at her every so often, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was waiting for her to say something – _anything_ – because he knew that she was a fan. Maybe not a groupie, but definitely a fan.

She hadn't given him the time of day. They sat in silence. He would look at her, she would look up, and he would look away. He couldn't help it – she was intriguing. Sure, he knew that from the first moment he saw her. What was someone so hot doing in a place like the NYPD? Why wasn't she a lawyer? Or, you know, a supermodel?

She did have legs that were like skyscrapers.

Finally, she asked him. Finally, she was showing a bit of interest. He had never met someone so… cool with him leading this double-life. He thought she was going to shoot him. He thought she would have least yelled. But, she accepted it, pulled up a chair, and ignored him.

Just like _always_.

"There's always a story," he claimed, peeking over the top of his letter to look at her reaction. She set her letter down and folded her hands on the top of her strewn-out stack of mail, finally giving him a look.

"Really?" she offered. "Please, do tell."

He licked his lips and set his own letter aside. He leaned forward, eager to let her in on his own little world. She didn't care that he was an anonymous, world-famous author? She didn't care that the mysterious Richard Castle was in all actuality her partner? Fine. He'd make her care. He'd impress her with his storytelling theory.

"There's always a story," he repeated. "A chain of events that makes everything make sense. Take Marvin Fisk." He pulled out the photo of his first homicide, but he didn't need it because the frozen image of Fisk was burned into his memory forever. "In a fairy tale, Marvin Fisk should not have been murdered. No enemies. No affair. No financial problems. Zero. Zip. Nada."

He then offered a picture of Allison Tisdale.

"She probably shouldn't have been killed either," he supplied, not really knowing what they had found out about their girl. "She's young, smart, has money. Probably has some enemies but I bet they're her father's, not hers directly. Maybe she had a jealous boyfriend or two, but nothing substantial. So, why kill them like Richard Castle's books?"

He smiled when she glared.

"Why kill them like this? How are they connected?"

A pregnant paused filtered throughout the room. She leaned forward, biting her bottom lip. Oh, yeah, he thought, she should have been a supermodel. What happened? What could have happened?

"Sometimes," she said, her eyes glancing to his lips, leading him on like she always did. "Sometimes, the guy's just a psychopath." She smirked. "Zero. Zip. Nada." He started to shake his head in disagreement but now she went on. "In a perfect world, these seemingly innocent victims shouldn't have been killed, right? Who else is there to target but a psychopath?"

He frowned.

After another long silence and she finally looked away from him and back down to the letter she had been reading. She gently set it aside and was reaching for another one when he finally snapped out of his stupor.

"I don't believe you," he chorused, plucking another letter off his stack.

She clicked her tongue but didn't respond. It was always a game with them, wasn't it?

He licked his lips. "Take you for example," he offered. She finally looked up from the letter, her eyes holding his in their constant staring match. "Under normal circumstance you should _not_ be here. Most smart, good-looking women become lawyers, not cops. And yet, here you are. _Why_?"

He gave her a bewildered look.

"I dunno, Rick, you're the novelist," she replied, leaning back in her chair. "You tell me."

He intertwined his fingers together, recognizing the challenge in her tone. "Well," he started. "You're not Bridgend Tunnel, no trace of the burrows when you talk, so that means Manhattan that means money." She rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "You went to college, probably a pretty good one. You had options." He looked in her eyes. "Yeah, you had lots of options… better options, most socially-acceptable options. And you still chose this."

When he wrote, he watched the scene play out in his head – he was merely an observer in these situations. He did the best he could to capture the world around him but not even the greatest novelist in the world could see everything. Images that Rick couldn't describe raced through his head. They were too fast to see. He was standing in front of a screen with pictures flashing at random: Kate at college, Kate reading, writing, studying, learning living, breathing.

Then the pictures halted.

And he knew what world he stood in.

"That tells me…" he faltered, just slightly. "Something happened." Her smirk was less playful, more cautious. "Not to you," he supplied, staring at the image frozen in his mind's eye. "You're wounded, but you're not that wounded."

Blood and tears and heartbreak.

The smile slipped off her face, like a klutz on ice.

"No, it was somebody you cared about. It was someone you loved." She tried to mask her pain, but Rick could see through it. She was naked under his eye. "And you're probably going to live with that because the person responsible was never caught."

A beat of silence passed and Rick didn't breathe. He was right; he was always right. There was always a story. But that look in her eye was too much – this wasn't his world, this wasn't Richard Castle's playground. This was real life. And the hurt was too much for him – too much to see when it came to the sultry, cold, Detective Beckett.

He looked away.

"And that, Detective Beckett, is why you're here," he whispered, though his voice seemed too loud, like it was shattering all the windows of the loft.

He could hear her swallow and then she mumbled, "Cute trick." He could hear the grief in her voice. "Don't think you know me."

"The point is, there's always a story," he supplied, trying to tie the bow on this horrible gift called insightfulness. "You just have to find it."

She fiddled with the edge of her next letter, pursing her lip. She was about to respond, to say something, when a loud sparkling giggle cut through the tension like a saw.

"Daddy!" shrieked Alexis, her padded feet sliding across the hardwood floor of the living room. Rick swallowed and hesitated. He looked at Kate's wide eyes and then shifted uncomfortably, getting to his feet. He exited the room and noticed his mother hanging up her jacket by the door.

He watched as his daughter, with her mane of flowing red hair, came racing towards him. He knelt down on one knee and she tackled him. Rick landed on his back, with a giggling daughter in his arms. He squeezed her and then tickled her sides. Her tinkling laughter filled up the room, all the tension pressing up against the windows, until it forced its way out.

"Hi, baby," he greeted, kissing her hair.

He rolled up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him. "Hi, Daddy," she chirped, slapping a slobbery kiss on his neck. He ran a hand through her hair and kissed her on the temple. The moment ended a second later, when Alexis asked, "Daddy, who's that?"

He turned his head to notice Kate standing at the entrance of his office, giving him a somewhat nervous look.

He smiled. "That's Detective Kate Beckett, Daddy's partner at work," he supplied, running his hand once more through her hair. "Can you say hi to Detective Beckett?"

Alexis shied away from the towering Kate Beckett and tucked her head into the crook of Rick's neck. He chuckled and gave his partner a shy smile and shrugged. Kate walked over to them and squatted down to come to Alexis's level. She reached her hand. "Hi, Alexis," she offered. "My name is Kate."

Alexis peeked over Rick's shoulder and he could feel his daughter smooth cheek up against his rough one. He looked at Kate and her smile, loving smile when she looked at his daughter. Alexis gently reached out her tiny hand to grasp Kate's finger. "Hi," she replied in small voice. "Can I call you Katie?"

Rick saw a flash of grief across her face – it was gone so quickly, Rick wondered if he imagined it.

"Yes," she said, her voice restrained, "You can call me Katie."

He glanced at his daughter and he saw her fear vanish, adoration in its place. Her clear-blue eyes, matching his perfectly, brightened and she scrambled out of his lap to get closer to Kate. Alexis reached out and tugged on Kate's hand. "I wanna show you somethin', Katie," she giggled.

Kate looked up at Rick, worried.

Rick supplied, "Pumpkin, Kate just stopped by to help with a case. She has to go back to work."

Alexis frowned, and then pouted, turning to her father. "Do you haveta go too, Daddy?" she mumbled, gently letting go of Kate's finger. Once released from the little girl's grasp, Kate stood up and walked back into the room, probably to get her purse and gather up the fan mail.

"No," Rick smiled. "I took today off so I could spend all my time with you."

Alexis's frown disappeared and her expression was all smiles and beaming. "Yay!" she cheered and hopped around in a circle. She took off to his mother and grabbed her hands, spinning them around in a circle. She was giggling and talking too quickly to be understood, happiness radiating with every word.

Rick smiled and then stood up to help Kate gather up the rest of the evidence. He leaned up against the doorjamb, watching as she stuffed papers into her large purse. He cleared his throat and she whirled around with a surprised expression. What look was this?

"Oh," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hi, sorry… I just…"

He walked into the room as she swung the bag on her shoulder, grabbing her jacket off the back of the chair. "Hey," he said quietly. She looked up and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he told her, his finger itching to run down her arm. "I didn't mean to pry." She caught that he was referring to the story he had spun about the origin of her job decision. "I'm sorry, Beckett."

She gave him a small smile.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm just… I'm surprised." She paused, weighing her options. What road was she going to choose? "I knew you were a father, but-" She glanced out of the open door to Alexis, still spinning with her grandmother. "I didn't realize that you were such a good dad. It's refreshing."

He smirked but didn't tease her.

"Well," he offered after they had stared at each other too long once again.

"Well," she repeated and lifted her bag. "I guess I'll head back to the Precinct. I'll let you know if we get a lead." She gave him a smirk and offered her hand, which surprised him. "It was nice to meet you… Castle."

He gave her a playful smile in response.

Ah, so this was how it was going to be.

"Well, it doesn't have to be the end," he took her hand into his, feeling the silky smooth skin of her palm. "We could go to dinner; debrief each other."

"Why, so I could another one of your conquests?"

"Or I could be one of yours," he teased.

She shook her head and walked passed him and out into the living room. Her heels clicked across the floor and she strode to the door. He watched and she stopped to introduce herself to Martha, who was carrying Alexis to the kitchen. She smiled and laughed, pleasant and warm and then made her way to the entrance of the loft, completely unfazed.

Rick jogged after her and, before she let herself out, he opened the door for her.

She rolled her eyes at him and headed down the hall. "It's too bad," he called after her, feeling his stomach burn with desire and sexual tension. "We would have been great."

She turned around walked back to him; it was slow motion, almost like in a romantic-comedy, when the bride was walking down the aisle. _Bride_? When she reached him, she bit her lip and leaned up to his ear.

She whispered, "You have no idea."


	7. The Dress Was Blue

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 6 – "The Dress Was Blue"<em>

* * *

><p>"Is Katie your girlfriend, Daddy?"<p>

Rick sputtered, setting his glass of milk down on the table. Alexis's owl-like eyes puckered up at him, while a piece of French toast slid off her sticky, syrupy fork. Her lip was quirked in the most peculiar way, her expression a mask of confusion, wonder, and just a dash of hopefulness.

"No," he chuckled, balancing his sticky fork on his plate. Breakfast for dinner – French toast, eggs, and sausage, all covered with organic maple syrup and tall glasses of milk on the side. It was such a messy dinner but the look on Alexis's face when she got to help 'make' the toast was worth it.

"Katie is my partner, for work."

Alexis's eyebrows furrowed and she bit her lip in concentration. "Not… your girlfriend?"

"No, sweetie," he replied. "I work with her."

Alexis puffed out her cheeks, still confused. He wondered why she was so perplexed by Kate. Sure, it's not like he brought any women around when Alexis was here. The only women she knew besides her mother and her grandmother was Paula, Gina, and her daycare teacher, Miss Georgia. Kate was new – maybe that was why?

"Will she be your girlfriend, Daddy?" she shifted, putting a big bite of French toast in her mouth, effectively dripping syrup all down her collared polo shirt and khaki capris.

He laughed. "Why, pumpkin? Do you want her to be Daddy's girlfriend?"

Alexis shrugged, entirely too old for almost three years old. She was too smart. "She's nice," she whispered, pushing the last of her eggs around her plate. "Will she eat with French toast with us sometime?"

He answered her question with a shrug of his own. "Maybe," he offered, allowing himself an escape in case Kate shot him down – because, no matter how cute his daughter was, Kate would still have to put up with him. He wasn't sure if she'd think it was worth it. Then again, he thought – watching as Alexis finally noticed the mess of her shirt, her face puckering in disdain – maybe she would.

"Okay," he announced when Alexis had resorted to licking the syrup when her napkin just shredded, leaving white pieces behind, when she tried to wipe it off. "Time for a bath, then bed. Daddy has to work tomorrow and I'm going to take you to daycare so we both need to go to sleep."

Alexis nodded, puffing out her cheeks and hopped down from the table. She started walking slowly to the stairs, waiting for Rick to unlock the baby gate – she could do it herself, she just wasn't quite tall enough yet. Rick left the plates for later and jogged to the stairs. He unlocked the gate and then, as Alexis tried to climb the firsts step, he grabbed her, swinging his giggling daughter up on his shoulder.

"Look what I've found, Captain!" he called to no one. "I've found the best treasure of all! It's the Princess of the island!"

Alexis shrieked and giggled madly, hands pulling at Rick's hair. He cringed when she ripped out a few strands but kept her up there because the sound of her laugh was the best medicine around.

"What should we do with her, sir?" He stopped at the top of the stairs and stage-whispered, "What's that? Feed her to the crocodiles in the tub? Will do, sir!" He sprinted down the hallway, Alexis bouncing up and down, her giggles cut off by the momentum of the run. She couldn't stop laughing though – she loved his stories and when they played like this.

She was his number one fan.

God, he loved her so much.

* * *

><p>The baby monitor went off at an unusual time at night.<p>

He heard Alexis screaming, crying, calling out for her father. Rick was up in a flash, and he glanced at the clock, noticing it was only two in the morning. Alexis was never one to be up at this time at night. Even when she was a newborn, she would fall asleep at seven, wake at ten, and then sleep until six in the morning.

He sprinted up the stairs two at a time, reaching her room in no time. He flung the door open, seeing her standing up in her crib. He must have looked like a wild man, because she didn't quiet upon seeing him. She screamed again, the crocodile tears coming like waterfalls out of her eyes.

Hesitating, he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, baby, it's okay," he cooed, walking slowly to the crib. He reached the side and lifted her out, cradling her like she was a newborn again. "It's okay, pumpkin," he whispered softly, feeling her tears already soak through his t-shirt.

Rick rocked her back and forth, trying to calm her down. After a minute, she started to hiccup and two minutes after that, she finally stopped crying, the noises calmed to just a slight whimpering. "Daddy, I wanna sleep with you," she whispered into his shirt, wiping her nose.

Normally, he would protest because he didn't want to make her sleeping with him a habit. It would be nearly impossible to break. But she just sounded so pathetic and sweet and scared that he couldn't refuse. He confirmed her question and hummed, trying to get her to go back to sleep.

He headed down the stairs, and stumbled through his office over piles of fallen manuscripts and the still misplaced-chair of Beckett's visit earlier. He cradled his baby until he reached the edge of the bed. He laid her on the unoccupied side and placed pillows by her side near the edge of the bed. He tucked her in, kissed the top of her head, and then jogged to his dresser, ripping off his tear-stained t-shirt and replacing it with a clean one.

He crawled in bed and pulled the comforter over himself. He reached for his daughter and dragged her in close, wrapping his arms around her so she knew that he was there. That she was safe. That nothing would ever hurt her.

Because nothing would ever hurt her.

He would make sure of that.

* * *

><p>Beckett sent him a text at seven the next morning. The chime of the made him jump and he fumbled for the phone, trying not to disturb the hot, drooling mess that was his daughter, laying practically on top of him. He stroked her long hair and blinked when the phone lit up the room.<p>

_Found the letter. Coming in?_

He grinned, surprisingly relieved that she was texting him – it meant that she wasn't mad for the little stunt that he pulled the day before. Or maybe she was ordered to. Eh, details.

He sent a reply, asking her what time he needed to come in. He yawned and tossed the phone aside, blinking in the artificial darkness of his room. The black curtains were pulled shut because Rick needed absolute darkness to sleep – he pretended he was a vampire sometimes, for Alexis. His reward was her sparkling giggle.

After a few minutes, the chime of another incoming text came through and he gathered up his phone.

_Around 9:30._

_Perfect_, he replied, remembering that he was planning to be at the Precinct at that time anyway, Alexis already at the daycare with a full stomach, packed lunch, and smiling.

Alexis shifted in his arms and he kissed her temple as she slowly woke up. Her hair was messy and frizzy, going each and every direction and her blue eyes sported "eye boogers" on each corner but she was the most beautiful thing had ever seen. This little girl – a surprise, unexpected – was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"Hey, baby bird," he greeted. "Morning."

"Mornin', Daddy," she yawned, her little mouth making an 'O.'

He lifted her in his arms, cradling her and he sat up. She snuggled into him, closing her eyes once more. "Don't go back to sleep, Alexis," he chided. "Daddy has to get ready for work and you have to get ready to see Miss Georgia." She nodded sleepily but didn't open her eyes.

He swung his legs to the floor and stood up, still holding her in his arms. He made his way to the door and up the stairs to her room. Twenty minutes later, his little girl was wearing a light pink sweater and a pair of jeans. Her hair was brushed and pulled back into a braid along her back – Rick had become somewhat of an expert of braids in the past months of taking care of his daughter without her mother.

Her mother.

Full-custody, he reminded himself. He needed to call his lawyer.

Soon.

Now.

Today. Someday.

He made her oatmeal for breakfast and a glass of orange juice. He quickly changed in his room – a pair of black slacks, maroon dress-shirt with the first two buttons undone (just for Kate). He slipped on his shoes, strapped his belt around his waist. He grabbed his gun (unloaded) and badge and then reached Alexis just as the last of her oatmeal disappeared off her spoon.

Rick grabbed a banana and a popped piece of toast. He slathered it with peanut butter and then helped his daughter down. He set her dishes in the sink, munching on his toast. Coffee, he thought, he needed coffee. He would stop at Starbucks on the way to the Precinct… get Beckett something.

That would be nice after their super awkward conversation yesterday, right?

Right, he confirmed, slipping Alexis's backpack around her back. She grinned up at him and he smiled back. Alexis helped him lock the loft and then he raced her to the elevator. She won and her reward was to push the 'down' button on the wall outside the elevator and the '1' button on the inside.

He drove in the heavy morning New York traffic but managed to get her to daycare on time. He parallel-parked right in front of the school and then he swung her up on his hip, carrying her inside the building. After a big hug and a kiss, Rick said goodbye to the sunshine of his daughter's smile and said hello to the grime of the world.

* * *

><p>"We found the letter," Beckett wasted no time, when he finally reached the bullpen.<p>

He glanced at the clock – 9:15. He was early. And he had coffee.

She held up a plastic evidence bag with what looked like a drawing on it. Rick exchanged her a coffee cup for the file, setting his own on his desk he had just received at the beginning of the week (it was still bare, with just a computer, keyboard, and nameplate… he needed some pictures of Alexis to smile at him after a particularly brutal case). She gave him a look but took the coffee, sipping it gingerly. She shrunk back from the scolding cup, giving him a confused expression.

"Grande skim latté with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla," he supplied.

"How did you-"

"I'm a novelist, it's my job to notice things," he grinned. She gave him a suspicious look, her lips tugging just slightly and then she took another sip of her coffee. He finally tore his eyes away from her lips and down the evidence bag. He flipped it over and looked at the letter of their suspect.

There, drawn like a child, was the Tisdale crime scene. Body, flowers and all.

"Do we have a name?" he asked, finishing his study of the letter.

She sighed, setting her coffee on her own desk, leaning her hip against the edge of his. "Not yet, system's backlogged," she answered. "We'll be lucky if it comes in by the end of the _week_."

He scrunched his nose and briefly remembered that he had lunch with the mayor that week – maybe with stronger connections with his new-found status, he would have some strings to pull when he needed the _system_ to un-backlog. After a quiet moment, Beckett offered, "So, the captain said he wanted to talk to you when you got in." She nodded to his door. "Probably about those novels, Castle."

She gave him a sly, teasing smile and he glared, giving her a smirk in return.

"You're funny," he sneered playfully, giving her back the evidence bag.

She shrugged and moved around him – her shoulder brushing his just for a brief, hot moment – and she took her seat, typing on the keyboard of her computer before her butt even hit the chair. She was such an interesting character. So, so interesting. And inspiring. And sexy.

He took his leave and headed to the captain's office.

Captain Montgomery was seated at his desk, a mirror image of Beckett: type, type, typing. Rick shut the door quietly behind him and at the sound of the 'click', the captain looked up. Rick met his eyes, strong, loyal, but challenging. Rick would not give up his novels. He couldn't. He didn't necessarily think that his job was in jeopardy but now – looking at Montgomery's eyes – Rick wasn't sure if he was out of the caution zone.

Montgomery looked… suspicious.

"Ah, Detective Rodgers," he greeted, leaning back into his chair. He gestured to the seats in front of desk but Rick was too twitchy to sit down, his imagination running wild – off track, too fast, and reckless. What if he lost his job?

"I'm okay, sir," he replied, his fingers tapping nervously at his side. He blinked. Poker face.

The captain shrugged and offered, "So, I got a call from the mayor this morning." Rick's eyebrow rose. Oh?

"Oh?" he echoed his thoughts, feeling his nerves momentarily recede.

The captain hummed a confirmation. "Bob advocated for you, Detective." _Bob_? "He told me that he absolutely loved your novels and if your inspiration came from the real-life line-of-work, then he strongly suggested that I keep you on my team. Said you'd be a real help if you're half as good as the detective in your novels." Montgomery nodded his head, lost in thought, his eyes shifting to the upper-corner of the room.

Rick sat down, rubbing his sweaty hands on his dress pants. Nervous.

Montgomery gave him a small smile. "I don't know if drawing your inspiration for a set of fiction on the real-life job is a smart thing to do," he started, "but, upon review of your past years in the Force, this 'research' hasn't gotten in the way of the job. I don't see a problem with you staying on the team."

Rick let go of the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He was going to keep his job. He still had his job.

Oh, thank God.

"Thank you, sir," he managed, feeling a lump in his throat. He wasn't sure why he was so emotional – he could live without the real-life crime-fighting. He could write novels, draw upon all his past years as a detective and uniform. He could spend more time with Alexis. More time asleep. More time out with women. He had been without since Meredith walked out before the summer – it was now the end of September.

However, if he was honest with himself, he not only didn't want to give up the job – he couldn't. The rush of adrenaline that shot through his veins like heroine when he chased down a suspect, the thrill of putting the final piece of the puzzle together, the gratefulness of the families that went home _knowing_ – that he couldn't live without.

Montgomery gave him a tiny nod, with an even smaller smile.

"None of these cases better appear in your books, Detective," he warned.

Rick nodded once. Not a problem. He had never based a book off a real case.

There was a hesitant knock on the door and it opened just a crack. Kate's face pressed up against the doorjamb and Rick thought she looked kind of cute with her cheeks sucked in, an apprehensive look on her face. "Captain?" she asked, a silent question if she could come inside.

Rick didn't turn around to see his captain's approval but Kate looked beyond him and stepped inside the room, obviously getting the permission she needed. She glanced at him and he held her eyes for longer than she probably intended.

"We have another body, sir," she explained. "Just dropped."

The silent question: _Is he coming with me?_

Rick is finally able to tear his eyes away from Kate's face, eyes, hair, outfit (the tight jeans and collared plaid shirt) and back to the captain. Montgomery sighed. "Go on," he waved Rick off with his palm. Rick stood up, a little too eagerly, and blinked heavily to stop the room from spinning. "Don't hurt yourself… Castle."

It was dry but Kate let out a loud cackle, leaving Rick behind to gather her things.

Rick looked at her, then looked at the captain with pursed lips, while the man in question puffed out his cheeks and looked back his computer. Smooth. Well played, Captain Montgomery.

Five minutes later, Rick was closing the door of Kate's car, feeling the familiar press of the loose spring in his seat. He shifted uncomfortably and Beckett dead-panned, "It's not going to change, Castle. Might as well stop fighting it."

He glared, offered, "I could buy you a new car."

Her eyes widened in surprise at his response – his outlandish proclaim of lots and _lots_ of money – but she covered it quickly. "No, thanks," she asserted. Her eyes lowered and she looked through her lashes, the tease. "I like to watch you struggle."

He smirked and leaned forward, much too close for her personal comfort (he knew, didn't care) and whispered hotly, "Ooo, bondage. My safe word is apples."

The moment broke when she rolled her eyes and stepped on the gas.

* * *

><p>"Kendra Pitney," Esposito reported when the Beckett-RodgersCastle duo finally made it to the crime scene. Rick pointed out that the boys always get there before they do because they actually listen to his suggested directions but Beckett ignored him and went passed him without so much as a hesitation.

They looked from Esposito to their girl. It was a nice pool even though it was in an apartment building, with just one lone swimmer: a dead girl with a yellow prom dress. She was face-down in the water. Someone had stabbed her in the back. Quite literally.

"_Death of a Prom Queen_," Kate and Rick said in unison. "You know," Rick looked at Kate and she looked back at him, a little breathless. "In my book, the dress was blue." She didn't respond.

"That was cute," Ryan offered after a pregnant pause, flipping through his notebook. He eyed them suspiciously. "Do you two… practice this when we're not around?" Rick grinned and Kate gave the detective a glare; Esposito and Ryan fist-bumped and Kate rolled her eyes, cleared her throat. _Okay_, she said with her body. Move on.

Two medical examiners were fishing Kendra out of the pool and Lanie appeared next to them, her examiner kit in hand. She offered all four of them a small smile as a greeting and then sauntered off after a moment to her body. "Okay, while they're fishing her out of the pool," Kate broke the silence. "I want you two" – she pointed to Ryan and Esposito – "to find out about our girl. What room she lives in, if anyone saw that she was with anyone, you know, the works." She winked at them, giving them a playful upturn of the lips, and they nodded, taking their leave.

"We'll see what Lanie has for us," Kate went on ahead of him, not waiting for a confirmation. Rick followed along behind because he knew Kate – she liked to talk to Lanie about the body, alone. Since three was a crowd, however, he let her tag along with her, asking his own (limited) questions, and she even listened to some of his theories. Though most of them were a gag. For her benefit.

Yeah.

Lanie was squatting by the victim, studying the girl's fingertips. The knife looked like a skyscraper on the girl's back. Beckett opened her mouth to say something but then a Uniform called out to her, saying the landlord wanted to talk to the leading detective. Beckett sighed, squeezed the ridge of her nose between her eyes, and gave Lanie a look. Rick stood on the outside of their silent conversation and then, like nothing happened, Beckett was walking off to the nervous Uniform and the very angry landlord.

Rick leaned down by the body and Lanie shifted her eyes to him.

"So," Lanie offered, looking back at the girl's fingernails, picking at them, like she was clipping them. "There's a rumor going around… wanna talk about it, _Rick_?"

She looked up, running a tongue along the top of her teeth, playful. Teasing.

Rick smiled good-naturedly. "Ha, ha," he replied. "Yes, the rumors are true. I'm Richard Castle."

Her eyes turned to mock-surprise. "Richard Castle, the author?"

Rick gave her a look. "On my better days?" He offered it like a question, not quite getting the game she was playing with him. He felt like a mouse inside of a timed-maze – no matter how many times he beat his time and ate the cheese, the scientists always came back for more.

Suddenly, Kendra's arm flopped to the floor as Lanie removed her hand, snapped her glove off, and extended it forward. "Lanie Parish, medical examiner," she teased, her smile playful but not sneering. "I love your books." Ah, so this was their game – let's harass the guy who is still being hazed for his newness and now for his secret novels. "You know you have a real gift with the details of death-"

"You got a C.O.D.?" Kate waltzed up at the exact moment, sparing Rick insistent questions and ruthless mocking. He wasn't sure if the guys knew yet – he doubted it, because if they knew, they would have mentioned something upon Beckett and his arrival to the scene. He really didn't like that his anonymous circle was getting so large.

"Not until I get a full exam but this wasn't a stabbing."

Rick looked down. No blood around the wound. No foam around the mouth. "Lack of blood around the wound suggests she was dead before she was in the pool. Lack of foam around the mouth, so we know she didn't drown."

"Oh, you're good," Lanie grinned at him. Funny, his pursed lips told her.

"Yeah," he paused. "She was killed first, then posed just like the others."

He looked up at Kate, who was glaring down at the body. "Yeah," she told him. "I know. Can I have a word?"

Rick nodded slowly and they stepped outside of Lanie's hearing-range, over to one of the clear windows, caked with water stains from splashed pool-water. "Okay, Castle," she said. "I know you're trying to adjust to this case and your new-found fame, but, we have procedure. You may be a famous novelist but that doesn't mean that everyone is going to always be so impressed by your theories."

He frowned. "What's up, Becks?" he asked, surprised at her cold request. It's not like he asked for this – quite the opposite, in fact, taking into consideration that before the day before, only a handful of people knew who the real Richard 'Castle' was. "I'm not trying to steal the thunder. I didn't ask for this… I'm not showing off, people are the approaching _me_. Anonymous, remember?" He widened his eyes, giving her an honest expression.

A beat passed.

And another.

"Don't call me Becks," she offered after a long, awkward moment.

She stepped over the line.

And she knew it.

Then again, hadn't he done the same yesterday? Bounded (not just stepped) over that line?

"Sorry," she added, looking at the ground, playing with the tips of her fingernails. "I guess this case is just a little…" She glanced back at the body. "Too close to home, you know?" She ran a hand through her hair, nervous, and he offered her a small smile, a shrug.

"We're even," he gave to her.

She looked up at him and she nodded. "Even."

They both turned back around and headed back to Lanie, back across the line, staring at it. She was irritated because he hogged the spotlight – a spotlight she never wanted to be on one person in particular. She liked teams. She liked order. It pissed her off that he was getting too much attention. He wanted to know about her mom. What happened? Why she was here. _There's always a story_. She wasn't going to tell.

"Do Tisdale and Fisk know each other?" he thought aloud randomly.

"We haven't found a connection," she confessed slowly. "Why?"

They reached Lanie, stopped – looked at each other. His phone buzzed, and then the ringtone blared like a hungry newborn.

"What about motive?" he asked as he unlatched the phone off his belt.

She looked at him, giving him a classic Beckett-style '_why are you even asking me_ _this_' face. "He's serial killer; he doesn't need motive," she told him, sounding a lot like the teachers in the Police Academy – trained, professional, a tad close-minded. Rick had never really agreed with those teachers. Or her for that matter.

"Rodgers," he greeted.

"Got a match on your prints, Detective Rodgers," came the voice of their "print guy" as Rick had dubbed him, a rookie named Sam Freeman. "The mayor called," he said when Rick didn't answer, surprised that the backlogging had been solved so quickly. "Still booked down here, but the mayor special requested your case's prints. Got friends in high places, Rodgers?"

"Something like that," Rick managed after a moment. "Who's the guy?"

Beckett was staring at him, seeming to know what the phone call was about.

"Kyle Cabot," Freeman answered.

A second later, Rick snapped his phone shut, clipped it back on his belt. "Kyle Cabot," he told Beckett and Esposito, Ryan, and the few Uniforms trickling behind her. "He lives in Brooklyn." They all started to the door, nearly jogging to get out to their cars. Solving this case is what they wanted to do – some wanted to go home to their families, others to the bar for a nice long drink and good company, others to an empty, cold apartment with a labyrinth of books. "We got him guys."

* * *

><p>Kate Beckett kicked in the door of Kyle Cabot's apartment – which was sexy as hell – but Rick didn't have time to admire it because, upon rushing into the apartment, gun at hand, he was greeted with a montage of their victims – Fisk, Tisdale, Pitney – and Richard Castle's books, pages, words thrown everywhere.<p>

The ceiling was bare – insulation poking out from a lot of the aluminum foil cover. There was a mint-green, retro-style fridge next to a long hallway, leading to a bedroom and bathroom, most likely. Along the back wall was a row of windows that showed the line of apartment windows across the street. Everything was dirty, despite the lack of furniture. Dust coated every tile, all the panels on the walls, the cabinets, counters, the sink. The only thing that managed to look relatively clean was the dining room table, the only piece of furniture in this front room, which was covered with Rick's words.

He picked up one of the books from the table – Cabot seemed to have every single one of them lined up somewhere – and opened up the front cover. He met a similar drawing like the letter that had been sent to him. It was child-like, something Alexis might draw, but it was the content that was horrifying – death, blood, and evil.

"Creepy," he whispered, closing the cover. Too much.

"Sucks, man," Esposito clapped a hand on Rick's shoulder, "bro-comfort." So, he _did_ know; that meant Ryan knew too. They weren't teasing him about it – what was this, the _Twilight Zone_? Maybe Beckett talked to them, his mind cut to the possibility. No, he reasoned, because she was teasing him even though it wasn't snotty, just their normal banter. Then again, Rick's first day the boys had no problems adding him to their little group – they were two the only guys who accepted him right off. No hazing.

Rick nodded blindly and turned around to search for his own partner. She was leaning the dining room table, running a finger over what looked like the same picture of Allison Tisdale that they had hanging up on their murder board. She was so young, he thought. Around Kate's age.

"Guys," Ryan's voice strained from another room. "You gotta see this."

Everyone snapped out of their collective stupor, headed to the room down the hall. Ryan parted the curtain covering a small nook in the wall with a gloved hand. Rick and Kate leaned down, looked inside the cranny in the wall. It looked almost like a traditional Mexican altar for _Dia De Los Muertos_ – the Day of the Dead; altars were created for dead ancestors with pictures, poems, favorite foods, an offering to those who had passed.

This was an altar for Rick Castle.

Pages of his books were haphazardly tacked to a large board. Cabot's own drawings added color and creepiness to the montage, almost like a horror movie. There were even two stalker pictures of Rick himself. One was of him grabbing a slice of pizza on the side of the street – he was wearing a scarf, his wedding band… that was months ago, sometime in March. The other was his official NYPD portrait he had taken at the begging of that year.

"He was stalking you," Kate supplied his thoughts, a candle in the darkness.

"Not as flattered anymore," he murmured. She snorted, unimpressed.

There was a pounding back in the first room, the living/dining room by the front entrance.

It was almost too perfect.

Rick and Kate looked at each other at the same time and stood up, leaving behind the altar. All the NYPD personnel made their way to the front entrance. Rick tapped on the top of his gun and pulled it out of his holster when Kate got hers.

The pounding came from a closet right next to the front door. Kate looked at Rick and then the side of the closet door that the hinges were on: _Open it for me on my count_. He rested his hand on the doorknob and he could hear the door vibrating under his fingers, in beat with the pounding from behind. His eyes never left Kate's – she took a deep breath and a quick nod later, he flung the door open, gun at the ready.

A young man in his early twenties was on the other side, repeatedly bashing his head against the wall, covered by hanging coats and jackets. "NYPD, show me your hands!" Beckett called. When Cabot didn't respond, Esposito roughly called out to him and pulled him out of the closet, despite the strangled cry that escaped the boy, leaving Rick with a fist of ice in his chest.

He sounded like a little kid.

Terrified. Sad.

Esposito slapped the cuffs on him. "Kyle Cabot," he grunted. "You are under arrest for the murders of Marvin Fisk, Allison Tisdale, and Kendra Pitney. Anything you say can and will be used against you in…"


	8. Not a Breakdown, a Breakthrough

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 7 – "Not a Breakdown, a Breakthrough"<em>

* * *

><p>"It's too easy."<p>

Rick and Kate stood outside of the interrogation room, staring at their suspect: Kyle Cabot. He was twitchy, his fingers in a constant battle with his arms: scratching and rubbing. He had a man sitting next to him – his appointed lawyer – was talking softly to him, making a point with his hands waving around in the air.

"What's too easy?"

Rick looked away Cabot and his gaze landed on Beckett's hazel (sometimes green, sometimes brown) eyes. "The story," he supplied. "This is just…too easy. Where's the twist?"

For an hour, Rick had watched outside this window. He had watched Beckett tear their suspect apart with savage claws (her words) and vicious teeth (the evidence). He had watched Kyle break down into tears, saying he didn't know, just didn't know why Allison would leave him like this. How could she leave him?

Something wasn't right.

Kate snorted. "What twist, Castle?" She quirked an eyebrow, the nickname becoming more and more a habit as she continuously let it roll off her tongue. If it was anyone else in the Precinct, Rick would have probably snapped by now, punched the accuser in the face. That being said…

"The twist," he urged, looking back at their suspect, pointing. "Seriously, this is the worst story ever. He kills a lawyer – someone he probably only dealt with once or twice – from the diner he worked at. Then he kills his social worker – someone he knew very well, had a personal relationship with. Then he goes back and kills someone he doesn't know well – our prom queen – from the diner. It just… it's a terrible story."

Kate rolled her eyes, looking back at Cabot. "It's like what I said before," she offered. "Sometimes there is no story. Sometimes, it's just a psychopath."

Rick shrugged, looked at their guy. Just a psychopath. Just a…

"Psychopath," he muttered. He looked at Kate, his eyes alight. _Just a psychopath_. How had he not seen it before? Kyle Cabot couldn't be their murderer. There _was_ a twist. Because Kyle was a psychopath (putting it very bluntly) – if Kyle was the one who killed Fisk, Tisdale, and Pitney then he would have-

"What?" she clipped, giving him a confused expression.

Rick grabbed her arm and she struggled but he was far too strong. He dragged her out of the observation room and across the Precinct to their murder board. She griped and moaned the whole way, pushing on his arm, demanding to know what he was talking about. "Are you having a mental breakdown?" she screeched as they reached the board.

"Not a breakdown, a breakthrough!" he waved her off, surprised he even heard her question.

He stopped and she stumbled, nearly toppling into him. Rick was too busy looking at their pictures to steady her, gaze into her eyes, or sweep her off her feet. You know, what chivalrous men should do. "Ah, ha!" he said, striking a pose. Kate huffed to his side as he clipped a picture of Kendra Pitney off the board.

Shoving the picture in her face, "The dress should have been blue."

Kate peek around the photograph and muttered, "Yeah, you're losing it."

He sighed and looked back at the board, clipped off a picture of Allison Tisdale covered in roses. "These flowers are Grande Flora, not Hybrid Teas," he tried again.

"I'll… make a note of it?"

He nodded. "Yeah, you probably should because this means that Kyle Cabot is innocent."

Kate plucked the photographs out of his hand and slammed them down on her desk. "Okay, Castle, I'll bite," she smiled, even though irritation was coming out like smoke from her ears. "Please, do explain why a yellow dress and Grande Flora roses are the reason why Kyle is not our suspect. You know, the suspect that stalked you and had a connection with all of the victims?"

Rick grinned. "He's being setup," he replied, giddy with the height of their story. "Being in the condition that he is in, he would have had to get the details right. The dress had to have been-"

"Blue," she supplied, her eyes shifting away from his, calculating.

"And the roses could not have been Grande Flora, they would have had to be-"

"Hybrid Teas," she finished, looking up at him. Somehow, during their little back-and-forth game, their heads had shifted closer and closer to each other. Rick was smirking and Kate was grinning, both a little drowsy off the rush of solving a mystery. Well, _resolving_ a mystery. They looked at each other and she pressed her lips together, smiling at him; he grinned, teeth and all, a little like a boy at Christmas. Then, as if they both realized where they were and what they were doing, they backed up, looking awkwardly past each other.

"Okay," she offered after a moment. "So, who's our suspect now?"

He snapped his fingers, reached around her, grabbed the picture of Allison. "Someone set up Kyle to take the fall," Rick offered. "Someone who knew enough about his fixation with me to use it to get away with murder. That means… we're not looking for a serial killer. We're looking for a good, old-fashioned murder – someone with motive."

She was nodding enthusiastically. "If I were writing the story," Rick went on, testing the waters. Kate stopped nodding, gave him a little look but didn't' interrupt. "The killer would have only wanted one of the victims dead and he would have killed the other ones… just to cover up the crime."

Kate gave him that look that said, '_wow you actually said something clever for once_' and supplied, "At one death, you look for motive. At two, you look for a connection. At three, you look for someone like Kyle."

He nodded.

"Exactly."

"Hey, what are you guys doin'?" A voice interrupted their vocal-sparring session. The duo looked up in surprise to see Ryan and Esposito, both holding paperwork and a mug of coffee.

Rick glanced at Kate, then back to the guys. "Just writing a pretty good story," he offered wickedly, watching Beckett's face morph from shiny off of their conversation to absolute annoyance. It was amazing how a woman could change faces so quickly.

She rolled her eyes, gave him a look. "Yeah, no," she claimed. "Actually, we were just ruling out Kyle Cabot as a suspect."

"What?" Esposito argued. "But the evidence-"

Rick glanced at Kate and grinned.

* * *

><p>They decided to call it a night after getting the guys up to speed. Rick had Alexis to pick up from his mother's rehearsal and Ryan had a date; Esposito said he wanted to catch a game and Beckett offered nothing of her evening.<p>

They released Kyle and set him up with an appointment with the Precinct's shrink, hoping that they could get him back on medication and to another social worker sooner rather than later.

Rick had decided to walk to his mother's rehearsal, and get his car back in the morning. He breathed in the chilly September air, already feeling New York City cool off, fall just around the corner. His shoved his hands in his jacket-pockets, trying to warm up a bit.

He didn't pack a jacket for Alexis.

Pulling out his cell phone, he pressed the '4' and speed dialed the town car company. He ordered a car to come in half an hour, hung up just in time to reach the entrance of the theater. He greeted the doorman with a nod, and unbuttoned his jacket on the way to the stage. He saw Alexis's red ponytail flipped over the back of a seat on the first row. He smiled and jogged down the aisle of red seats. The actors on stage didn't stop their performance but there was a lull when the door shut loudly behind him.

He didn't even care.

He missed his little girl.

When Rick reached the front row, he bent down to catch his breath and Alexis looked over. She grinned widely but didn't say anything, knowing (all too well) the consequences of talking in the theater. She did, however, throw her coloring book on the ground and jump up, running to him. She tackled him and he fell back, laughing.

"Shh, Daddy!" she whispered, giggling under her breath. "Gram says be quiet!"

He gasped, still smiling, and nodded. "So sorry, baby," he said and brushed the wisps of free hair back, planting a smacking kiss on her forehead. Alexis giggled and then leaned down, resting her head on her father's chest. He rubbed her back gently, resting his head on the carpet of the aisle. "How was your day, pumpkin?" he asked her.

She hummed into his shirt, breathing in deeply.

"Are you sleepy?" he figured, closing is own eyes.

"Mmhmm," she muttered, rubbing her eyes on his shirt. He chuckled as she cuddled with him. Rick had always been one to cuddle – it was only right that his daughter was too. "Daddy," she whispered after a moment, lifting her head. He hummed still rubbing her back. His eyes blinked open slowly. "Daddy, when is Mommy coming home?"

_Whoosh_.

All the air left his lungs. He sat them up and took a couple deep breaths, deciding how he should respond. How do you respond to a little girl who lost her mom? A little girl who never really had a mom in the first place? What was he supposed to say? That her mother had flown out two weeks ago for yet another job, without so much as a goodbye?

"I'm so sorry, Alexis," he said, placing his hands gently on her cheeks. Her bright blue eyes shifted back and forth between his, filling slowly with tears. After a moment, one fell silently down her cheek and over his fingertips. She was cold. And tired. And so, so sad.

He choked on his words.

"Why, Daddy?" she cried, crashing her head into his chest to hide her tears. She never liked anyone to see her cry – when she fell down and sliced her knee open just the year before, she hadn't cried at all, despite the eight stiches she needed; she didn't cry when Mommy left just a month after her birthday; she only cried when she had nightmares. And even then, she hardly would allow herself to cry loud enough for Rick's attention.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he mumbled, kissing her hair. "Mommy got a job in California. I'm so, so sorry."

Alexis muttered something into his shirt but he wrote it off as "baby-talk." When she was really upset, sometimes she would mumble words that didn't make any sense – along with the typical sniffling, coughing, and gasping for air thing. Rick rocked her back and forth, cradling her like the baby she was to him and her cries finally softened to nothing when she fell asleep.

Rick watched the rest of the rehearsal from the floor, rocking his sweet, innocent daughter. He wiped away her tears with a napkin he had put in his pocket at lunch. She had sniffled and snuggled deeper into his shirt but didn't wake.

His poor, poor baby.

"Richard," his mother breathed after she had come out from backstage. She helped him to his feet, ran to gather Alexis's things, and then slung it over his free shoulder. "The poor thing," she muttered, running a hand down Alexis's ponytail. "She must be so tired." Martha winked at her son. "I took her to the park during lunch. She ran for an hour non-stop."

Rick smiled and nodded, not bothering to share the real reason for her exhaustion – sadness, tears, and the failure of her father, her mother. "That must be it, Mother," he offered, giving her a charming smile.

Martha tugged at her sparkly pink cardigan and, after a pregnant pause, reached out to the person standing behind her – Rick hadn't noticed but an older gentleman, around his mother's age, had been watching the interaction. "Richard," Martha exclaimed. "I want you to meet my friend, William Rodgers. Isn't it funny that we both have a last name?"

The older man with white hair, sparkling brown eyes, a thin body, and a professor-like aura reached out a hand, gripping Rick's firmly. "William, dear, this is my son, Rick Rodgers of the NYPD."

"It's always nice to meet someone from the Force," he offered, shaking Rick's hand. "I thank you for all of your hard work and dedication to the protection of New York."

Rick nodded and brought his hand back to steady his sleeping daughter. "Thank you, sir, it's my pleasure," he replied charmingly, trying to hurry the conversation along. This was totally a fish his mother had caught – he could see it in the way Martha's eyes watched their interaction, the way she touched William's sleeve. His mother always had a way with men. Maybe this one would be Gramps?

Rick smirked at the thought.

Yeah, right.

"I'd love to stay and talk," Rick said after a beat, "but I really have to get this one home. She's exhausted, like her grandma said." Rick ran his tongue of her teeth, giving his mother a shining, teasing smile. His mother glared but when William looked back, she quickly classed her features into a smile.

Such an actress.

"Of course, dear," she proclaimed through gritted teeth. She came forward and Rick kissed her cheek. She ran her hand down Alexis's mane of hair once more and bid them adieu.

* * *

><p>The town car had just taken off into New York City traffic when Rick's phone buzzed at his side. He glanced down, glaring at the caller ID. Now? Meredith wanted to talk to him now, after he had to calm a hysterical daughter when she learned that her mother had disappeared all the way across the country?<p>

"What, Meredith?" he answered harshly, quietly. He looked down at his daughter. Her head was in his lap, her hands fisted under her cheek, like a makeshift pillow; her legs were curled under her, his jacket draped over her because of the chilly wind.

"Whoa, calm down, Kitten," his soon-to-be ex-wife yakked. "I wanted to call you… I'm finished shooting here in about two months. I was wondering… can we put off that trial for the divorce until then?"

Rick sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Meredith," he growled. "This is the second time you've postponed the divorce settlement. I know you take breaks in the show-biz. Come out during one of the breaks. I'll pay for your flight," he added. He needed to get divorced – he could bring up the custody agreement at the trial. He couldn't have this woman take care of his daughter. Not when she kept screwing up – kept making his baby cry.

She sighed. "Look, Richard." She paused and he bit his lip hard enough to break skin; breathe, he told himself. "I know that you have all this money and that's great. But I really don't have the time to just get up and fly out there for a day just to get divorced. That's not really my idea of a good time."

He dead-panned, "Divorce _isn't_ a good time… for anyone. That doesn't mean you get to keep putting it off."

"Rick," she whined. "I think you're being too hasty. Think about Alexis."

"No," he glowered. "You do not get to tell me to 'think about Alexis.' That's all I ever do. You're the one that sleeps with other men, flies out of the state – hell, the _country_ – at the drop of a new pair of shoes, and never takes time to see her. I'm doing everything I can for Alexis."

He could hear the anger in her voice when she defended, "Why are you being like this, Rick? I made a mistake with Derek all those months ago. It was a spur of the moment thing, Kitten." She paused, turning her voice to a notch of seductiveness. "Can't we work this out? Counseling or something? I don't want to get divorced, Richard."

He gritted his teeth as the car pulled up in front of his building. "Yeah, well," he hissed, feeling Alexis rustle at his side. "You should have thought of that when you slept with my partner. Goodbye, Meredith."

Rick clicked off just as the driver opened his door. He gathered Alexis in his arms. She muttered something that sounded like "Daddy" but didn't wake up long enough to expand. This girl could sleep through a hurricane. Her head lolled on his shoulder and Rick reached back inside the car, grabbed her backpack.

He nodded to the driver, then to the doorman, before entering his building. As they waited for the elevator, Rick fished out his cell phone from his pocket. He flipped through his list of contacts, selecting Brian Hernandez. The phone rang twice before his lawyer answered, "Hello, Mr. Rodgers."

"Hey, Brian."

The elevator opened and Rick stepped inside, using his elbow to push on his the button for his floor. "I need to talk to you," he offered after a moment.

There was a chuckle on the other like. "If you didn't need to talk to me, I would be wondering as to why you called, Rick." Rick couldn't help himself: he smiled. Brian was a very down-to-earth kind of guy. He was another person that was in the circle of people who knew of Rick's "Castle" identity. They had been good friends in college – met in a class on serial killers and had bonded over The Vampire of Sacramento – also known as, Richard Trenton Chase.

Brian was completely honest – he had no problems telling someone when they were being an idiot. Rick had always been one to sugar-coat things. They were a good pair.

"Yeah, yeah, you're funny," Rick gave him. The elevator pinged open and he walked down the hall. He reached his door but realized that all of his hands were full. He pressed his phone on his collar bone, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. He jammed the key into the lock, twisted to the right, and pushed it open. He dropped Alexis's backpack by the door.

"I wanted to talk about the possibility of getting full custody of Alexis."

He heard a sigh on the other end. "Rick, that's gonna be a hard one…"

"I know, I know," Rick babbled, dropping his keys into the dish on the counter in the kitchen. He took his gun out of the holster, set it gently down next to the bowl and then placed his badge next to it. "With my work hours, I know it will be hard for any judge to deem me fit enough to care for my daughter all the time. But, Brian, look-" He breathed, an unintentional dramatic pause. "Meredith just flew out to California… again for another movie shoot. She didn't even tell Alexis goodbye."

"Crap," Brian cursed. "You always have to use your girl one me, bro." Rick chuckled, headed to the stairs. He unlocked the baby gate just as Brian theorized, "Okay, look. There isn't much we can do for the fact that both you and Meredith have shitty working hours. But there is…"

Rick heard the rustling of papers on Brian's end. Rick had reached Alexis's room and gently laid her down on her bed. He pulled off her shoes, her socks. He was grabbing a pair of leggings and an old t-shirt of his for Alexis to sleep in when Brian offered, "There is this one way. You can have someone advocate for you."

"Advocate for me?" Rick repeated, tugging off Alexis's jeans and putting on the leggings. He sat her up. "Sorry, baby girl," he muttered, pulling off her sweater and replacing it with the old Yankees t-shirt.

"Yeah," Brian sighed. "If you have someone – not family – come and testify that you are fit to raise a child on your own, it could sway the judge in your favor." Rick grinned, gently pulling Alexis hair out of her ponytail. "And I mean _could_, Rick. I'm only about 70 percent sure here."

Rick chuckled. He gently laid Alexis down on her pillow. She snuggled in and he pulled her comforter – that hadn't been made since the night before – up to her chin. He reached for Monkey Bunkey – the sock puppet she absolutely adored – that had been jammed in between the side of the bed and the wall, and placed it next to her.

"Thank you, Brian," he said, squatting next to his daughter. He ran his fingers through her hair.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," his friend replied. "Don't thank me. We have a case to win yet, dude." He paused and Rick took a deep breath, drinking in the beacon of hope shining on Alexis's sleeping face (it was probably the nightlight, but whatever). "Make sure that you pick a good one, Rick. I mean, upstanding citizen, honest, kind, preferably someone attractive. You know, someone to impress a judge." He could hear the wink in Brian's voice.

Rick smirked.

"I think I have the perfect person for the job."

_Kate Beckett._

Because who else was an upstanding citizen, honest, kind, and completely hot all rolled up in one?


	9. Almost Impossible to Prove

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 8 – "Almost Impossible to Prove"<em>

* * *

><p>Rick dropped a brown paper sack in front of Beckett.<p>

She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear before looking at the bag, then up at him. He gave her a small smile before handing her a travel mug, filled with coffee. She narrowed her eyes and reached out a hesitant hand. Their fingers brushed when she took the mug from him and he saw the hairs on her arm stand up.

They shared a look – a too, too long look to be acceptable – and then she reached for the bag. Inside, she found a bear claw; surprise filled her eyes and she looked up at him. A question puckered on her lips but instead of questioning she concluded, "I'm not even going to ask."

Rick nodded and took his seat, taking a slow sip of coffee. His hands shook as he set it down on his desk; a bit of the liquid dribbled on the rim of the lid. He swiped it up with his tongue and took another drink, trying to calm down.

This had to go right.

His little girl was at stake. He couldn't let himself lose this one. He could be charming and mysterious, attractive and sensitive. But to Kate Beckett he was cocky and ruggedly handsome, all his cards hidden behind too-long glances and banter.

This time, his cards needed to be laid out on the table.

He reached down to get his messenger bag but met Beckett's eye before he could flip the top shielding the contents inside. Her cheeks were flushed, the coffee suspended between her two full lips, red with the heat of the drink and the chill of the morning. He gave her a look and she snapped out of it, taking a long sip and getting back to her paperwork.

"Thanks," she offered after a second.

Rick shook his head and reached down inside his bag. He pulled out three picture frames, each with a picture of Alexis…

The first one was in a pink polka-dotted frame, with him in a stiff, mint-green hospital chair, a new dad, holding his baby girl for the first time; Rick loved that picture the most. He was grinning at a bundle of pink blankets, not even Alexis's nose peeking out from the top of the blanket because she was so early, so young. The scruff on his chin revealed the exhausting 28 hours in the delivery room; the bags under his eyes were from the stress. But he looked happy. More than happy – there wasn't even a word to describe the emotion expressed by Rick in the picture; and he was the novelist.

The second picture was Alexis at her second birthday party in a plain black frame. She was eating a Harry Potter-themed cake, red and gold frosting over everything: the highchair, her face, her clothes, the wall, her hair. There was a wand poking out of her slice and her Gryffindor polo shirt was smeared with the makeup her mom had bought her. She was looking straight at the camera though, her little mouth open in such a laugh – it was the first time Rick could remember describing her laugh as sparkling.

The last picture was Alexis at the dinosaur exhibit just a few Sundays before, framed by a dinosaur and the words museum's logo. She was wearing her "Indiana Jones" gear complete with khaki pants, long-sleeved white top, jean vest, and utility belt with a shovel and whip. She and Rick had asked an employee if he would take their picture. It was them in front of the T-Rex. Alexis was giggling and he was grinning as he held her up over his head, trying to touch the nose of the dinosaur.

Rick set all three photos in front of him, facing away from him. Beckett noticed his action and looked up from her paperwork, setting down her pen. "What's this?" she asked.

He smiled. He leaned over, explaining each picture in detail.

The first picture, he told her about Meredith. How she had gotten up from bed and waddled into the kitchen for a glass of water. Rick had shot up at the scream and discovered his fiancé on the floor, gripping on to the counter, holding her belly. "Coming," was all she could mutter, even though she was early. Too early; six weeks too early. Rick had used the siren on the way to the hospital. It was three in the morning but in the _City that Never Sleeps_, it took almost half an hour to finally get to the hospital. They had to wait hours for the little girl: 28 hours.

The second picture was his little girl whose first words were "Potter!" Not Daddy. Not Mommy. Not Grams. Harry Potter. When Meredith was "late" on "set" Rick would always pop in a Harry Potter DVD for him and his daughter to watch. She had been enchanted since the first scene of _The Sorcerer's Stone_. Rick read her the books that year, over and over again. She couldn't get enough. Her second word was "Ron." Third: "Dumb Door." Rick had fought tooth and nail for a Harry Potter party instead of a Disney Princess-themed extravaganza.

The final picture was an early morning of jumping on the bed and running around the house. It was a long drive – too long of a drive – to the museum. It was learning about dinosaurs. The nose of the T-Rex was the height equal to a skyscraper for his little girl. They had eaten burgers and milkshakes afterwards. It was happiness.

Kate's eyes softened, her cheeks slackened as she took in each picture, drinking them in like the coffee she was gripping in her hand.

"I have a favor I wanted to ask you," he started.

"Ah," she sighed, setting her coffee aside. She intertwined her fingers and rested her chin on her knuckles. She looked pensive but playful. Ready for verbal sparring. Not for the seriousness he was about to deliver. "I knew there was a catch." She winked. "You don't bring a girl a donut unless you want something. Especially not to a cop."

He chuckled nervously and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm getting divorced," he revealed rather bluntly, surprising himself. He hadn't rehearsed this – he didn't want to sound pathetic. But honesty really worked with Beckett: she was a cop; the truth was what she fought for. When she looked at a person with those eyes, it was impossible to lie. "My wife – Meredith – cheated on me with my partner. She left me in April and has been back and forth between here and California for work. I transferred to the Twelfth and spent the summer with my daughter."

Kate's expression read something like pity and Rick didn't like it.

"Meredith came back for two weeks just before I started working here. She left after my first day without saying goodbye to her daughter. She is an irresponsible, selfish…" he sighed, wiping a hand down his face. "I want to get full-custody for my daughter."

He gave her a look.

She narrowed her eyebrows, puckered her lips. "And what does this have to do with me?" she pointed at herself, her finger resting against the cotton fabric of her white, boat-neck shirt.

"Because of my work schedule, the probability of me getting full-custody is worse than if Meredith wanted to," he explained after a breath. "My lawyer recommended I get someone to advocate for me. Someone attractive, who's an upstanding citizen… someone who would impress the judge."

Her head cocked to the side in an unspoken question.

"I want you to advocate for me."

Her eyes dropped. He watched her fingers squeeze together. He could practically see her breathing in the stress of her answer: no. She was going to say no. She didn't have to say it aloud – he could tell by her hesitation. He needed her. His daughter needed her. But she was going to say no.

He felt depression seep to his veins, running through like blood. It might be overdramatic, but he could feel the light leaving his eyes – his hopes dashed. He was going to lose Alexis. He was going to be alone, all alone. He grew up alone. He would die alone.

And suddenly, he wished he had put on a different front. He wished that he hadn't come in that first day and acted like a total asshole. He wished that he could change it. He wished Kate Beckett could see how he really was. He wasn't this jerk, this cocky guy who thought he had it all figured out. He was someone who only wanted to be loved; he was someone who was so tired of being alone. He was lost and wandering, all alone with just his daughter holding his hand.

He would continue along this path alone.

Blinking, he looked back at his partner. She whispered, "Rick-"

"Hey, Beckett," Esposito's voice interrupted. Rick watched Kate as she hesitated, then let out along breath before spinning around to meet Esposito's eyes. He held up the files, Ryan jogging to catch up to his partner. "I got everything on the Tisdale family. Jonathon Tisdale is expecting you in an hour."

Kate nodded. "Thanks, Espo," she grabbed the files and flipped through them, not giving Rick another glance.

* * *

><p>"Appreciate your time."<p>

Kate was already halfway to the door. Rick didn't even have time to reflect on the fact that she had patted his arm – in the _shut up, let's go_ kind of way – before she was out of sight. He turned to follow, questions for Jonathan Tisdale still swirling in his head like fruit and ice in a blender. While Kate wanted to jump out early, he wanted to dig at Mr. Tisdale, rough him up, see his hand.

Rick turned back around and asked, "What happens to all that money if something happens to you?" Money was motive for murder. If Allison was killed – not for her money (or lack thereof) – but for her father's…

Tisdale looked grave, like death, when he replied, "Half of my estate goes to charitable foundation and the rest to my children…" He took in a breath, his face cracking. Rick wondered, what if he was this man? What if his own daughter was dead? He didn't even want to imagine it.

"I mean, my son," Tisdale quietly corrected himself, brushing a hand through his hair.

"Thank you," Rick asserted, brushing my Beckett – stunned and wide-eyed – and headed to the door.

The elevator ride down was quiet. Beckett was biting her lip and Rick was concentrating solely on the numbers of the meter above the doors. 3,2,1…

When they reached the busy streets of New York City, Rick was momentarily distracted by the hot dog cart by the busy intersection.

"What was that all about?" Beckett asked him.

"He's dying," Rick shrugged, stopping to face her. Kate lowered her eyes and one of her eyebrows lowered, her 'confused' face. It was absolutely adorable.

"Who's dying? Tisdale?"

He ignored her. "You want a hotdog?" he offered instead. "I wanna a hotdog." He walked to the cart, leaving her in the dust and smoke. "What do you take on your-"

When he looked back to her, she had reached out, grabbing his nose between her index and middle finger. She squeezed and Rick heard a slight pop. Tears sprung into his eyes immediately and he reached up to grab her fingers. "Apples, apples!" he cried, trying to get her to let go.

"What," she started in a slow voice. "Makes you think Tisdale is dying?"

She let him go and he held his nose, checking twice for blood. Man this woman had a grip. Before his thoughts became too dirty – what other things could she grip this hard with just two of her fingers? – he replied, "You see those pictures in his office? He's much thinner now. Sick-thin, not workout-thin."

"His daughter was just murdered."

Always one to argue, wasn't she?

Rick wiped his nose. "And the way he kept touching his hair, like he's self-conscious?"

"You think he's wearing a piece?"

"It's a good one, but it's new to him. Chemo is relatively recent. And he was wearing makeup." The lengths some men went to…

"He's trying to look healthier than he is."

"Maybe hoping his shareholders wouldn't notice?"

Rick really enjoyed this back-and-forth game they had going. Never had he literally met a woman who could finish his sentences. Sure, in fantasy or in books such women existed – but only for his characters. The author was always the third wheel… there to take notes, not experience the rush of being on the same page, the same sentence as somebody else.

"So, he's got cancer… doesn't mean he's terminal."

Rick smirked. "But it's a much better story if he is." She pursed her lips, puckering them to the right. He loved that look. "Did we interview the brother?"

"Yeah…" she nodded slowly. "Ryan and Esposito checked up on him to ask if he knew Kyle. Said that Allison had wanted him to give Cabot a job but he wouldn't because he 'couldn't afford' any screw-ups." She shrugged. "Other than that, he came up clean. Had an alibi for all three murders, they said."

"Really?" Rick was surprised. "And what was his alibi?"

She narrowed her eyebrows. "He was out of the country for all three murders," she was moving her mouth but her expression remained the same: confused and slightly in awe. "For business. Even provided a passport."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "And you believe him?"

She cocked her head to the side. "In my experience, innocent people aren't ready with alibis."

"I'm going to take a shot in the dark here," Rick offered. "But I'm guessing it's the brother."

* * *

><p>By the time they got back to the Precinct, Ryan was just hanging up the phone.<p>

"Ryan, what do you got?" Beckett called across the bullpen, her heels clicking loudly as she half-jogged to his desk. Rick walked along behind her, his arms pumping him mock-hurry. Ryan was setting down the phone on the receiver when they finally approached. "So?" Beckett hedged.

Ryan answered, "His credit card company confirms that he paid for three round-trip tickets. Dates coincide with the three murders."

"So, according to his credit card, Tisdale was out of the country," Esposito concluded.

Rick sighed. "Wait a minute, so now I'm not right?"

Beckett bit her lip. Rick watched the spark light in her eyes and she smiled. "Which means the passport stamps were forged," she offered, getting up – already on the move.

Esposito started to babble about calling someone but Rick interrupted, "That's, uh, not how he would have done it." He crossed his arms, the novelist inside of him taking over. Kate stopped dead in her tracks, whirled around and came up to him. She was standing too close again.

He liked it.

"You gotta better idea, Ricky?"

He lifted his eyebrows. Ricky? "Second passport," he offered.

"And how would he get one of those?"

Rick scoffed. "With his money? Trust me-" he looked down at the guys, who were staring at him with mouths ajar, eyes confused. "The black market would have been a piece of cake."

"So he leaves the country on his own," Kate starts. "Comes back with the other passport, commits murder, flies out, then comes back on his _own_." She looked up, clarity finally reaching the surface of her hazel eyes.

Rick comes in, "Perfect alibi. Perfect murder."

"But almost impossible to prove," Esposito dead-panned.

"He's gotta be a little freaked after our meet-and-greet," Ryan added.

Rick looked at him. "Unless we find that second passport." Esposito shrugged a shoulder. Rick looked at Ryan, then back to Esposito, and finally to Kate, his partner. "Road trip?"


	10. Where's the Fun in That?

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 9 – "Where's the Fun in That?"<em>

* * *

><p>"There's gotta be more to this story than just money," Rick announced on the fast-moving drive to Tisdale's apartment. Cop cars and special units were whirling away but Rick ignored the noise easily, sounding almost like they were just on a Sunday drive, rather than a criminal-take down.<p>

"What do you mean?" Beckett asked, her eyes focused on the road.

"Harrison and Allison," he explained. "I don't understand – if Harrison was so deep in debt, then why didn't he just ask for the money? His dad would have helped him. Jonathan Tisdale may be a real estate mobile – thus cut-throat and sometimes shady – but he loves his kids. You can see it. So, why did he do it? Why would you kill your sister and two other people when all you had to do was pick up the phone and call Daddy?"

Beckett shrugged, her hair falling over her shoulder as she did so. "Maybe it was pride," she offered. "He didn't want Daddy thinking he couldn't handle himself."

Rick shook his head. "No, that's not it."

She rolled her eyes and looked at him, clearly annoyed that he would ask a question and then just reject her response without so much as a hesitation. "Well, do you have a theory you want to share with the class, Castle?"

He pursed his lips. "Allison was the one who was prideful, independent. She was doing well but she was a social worker. Remember what Tisdale said? That he was rich and his daughter wasn't. No way are _both_ siblings _not_ hitting up Daddy for money. No, there's this heavy emotional angle that I'm missing."

Kate smirked and looked back to the writer. "Well, you're the writer. You could just make it up and satisfy your inner need for a soap opera confession. All I need is the evidence."

He shook his head, "Don't ruin my story with your logic."

She let out a loud, "Hah!" of amusement and focused back on the road, silent but with a lovely little smile tugging at each corner of her lips.

As soon as Beckett's car pulled up to Harrison Tisdale's house, Rick Castle's cell phone rang loudly.

Beckett turned off the ignition and looked at him as he gingerly unclipped the cell phone from his belt. He looked at the caller I.D.: Meredith. God, she had the worst timing. Rick threw his head back onto the headrest and bumped it in frustration. "Castle, we can't wait," Beckett muttered.

He nodded and looked down at the assaulting phone.

He answered it, telling Beckett, "Yeah, go on without me."

As he pressed the phone up to his ear, he briefly felt Beckett's fingers rest against the arm holding his phone. Before he greeted Meredith, he shot her a surprised look. Her cheeks were tinted pink but her eyes were determined – she gave him a small, reassuring smile and hopped out of the car, hand on her gun.

"Rodgers," Rick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He braced himself for the nasally voice, provocative words, and sorry excuses from his soon-to-be ex-wife. He couldn't wait to divorce her. If only he could get Kate Beckett to advocate for him – if only she would accept him.

"Hello, Richard," it came.

"What do you need, Meredith?"

She sighed in annoyance. "You really aren't good at small talk, are you?" she replied. "No wonder you wanted to be an anonymous writer. You have no people skills whatsoever."

"I don't have _any_ people skills whatsoever," he corrected, feeling his blood boil.

He heard her gasp in surprise. "Wow, for once you're actually agreeing with me! This marriage could work yet!" she exclaimed sarcastically.

He dead-panned, "Not agreeing – correcting. You said that I have '_no_' people skills. You should have said I don't have '_any_' people skills. I may be anonymous but at least I have proper grammar."

"Whatever," she responded with icily.

"What do you want?" he tried again. "I'm trying to work."

Meredith went off into a rampage about the divorce settlement, Rick's announcement of wanting full-custody of Alexis, and how implausible both of those decisions were. She was teary and whiny and Rick was only nodding off her questions and half-listening to her concerns. He picked at a loose string of the interior below the door's window.

He had just happened to glance up at the lull in conversation to see a young man skidding down the fire escape of Harrison Tisdale's building. He was twitchy, almost falling when he took one too many steps downwards. Rick mumbled, "Meredith, I gotta go" before hanging up on her.

He got out of the car, cocking his head to the side to get a better look at the guy almost down the fire escape.

The curly hair, the slumping build, the expensive suit and shoes all indicated that it was Harrison Tisdale running down the fire escape.

"Hey, _hey_!" Rick called after him. He stumbled when he tried to break into a full-sprint but managed to regain his footing. He picked up his phone, pressed the "3" for Beckett's speed dial and hit "send." She picked up on the first ring.

"He's comin' down the fire escape!" he gasped, bypassing it. There was a large truck in front of him and he heard Beckett yelling commands when he clicked off and shoved his phone in his pocket. He rounded the front bumper of the truck, totally disregarding his police instincts.

He briefly heard Beckett yell, "Stop, police, don't move!" but he was already around the corner. A force struck him in the side, jabbing his rib and Rick grunted from the pain. He struggled with the assailant but couldn't get a good grip – or look – at the guy. He was roughly brought up and an upright position and a gun was pressed under his chin.

Rick froze and remembered to assess the situation. He could hear Beckett's clicking shoes, the guys' screaming and running in the distance, and the unsteady breathing of Harrison Tisdale. He could see the muzzle of the gun when he looked down and also the truck that was blocking him from his coworkers. He could smell garbage, dirt, and breath that smelled like a cross between nachos, nervous, and nicotine. He could feel the terror of Harrison's body and his own heart pounding in his chest. He could taste blood, probably an effect of the struggle.

Beckett's boots were suddenly muted.

He could feel that she was rounding the corner. Harrison squeezed Rick's arm tightly and shoved him from around the corner. He brought the gun out from under Rick's chin and out in front of him, on the defense. Kate Beckett's flowing brunette hair, wide hazel eyes, soft skin, and pant-suit all came into view with a flash.

"Stay back, stay back!"

Kate yelled something back while Castle extended his hands in a "mercy" movement, calmly saying, "Easy, easy, easy…"

For a brief second, Rick looked at the gun.

The safety was on.

He looked back up at Beckett but she didn't notice. Her eyes were directly on Harrison's, and she said, "Let him go, Harrison." Her voice was rough, like she had been running for too long without stopping.

Harrison roughly pulled Rick bag, dragging his left arm along the metal fence, up against a brick wall of the neighboring building. "Easy, easy," Rick told Harrison, who wasn't listening to anybody, unfortunately.

"Castle, are you okay?" Beckett asked, not looking at him, but worrisome coming through her voice, loud and clear.

"Yes," he replied, struggling against Harrison. "But psycho here needs a breath mint."

"Shut _up_!" Harrison shrieked, sounding like a little kid in the midst of a tantrum. Castle kind of wished he had met this guy in a bar – killing his sister and two other people on the side, he really needed to be punched repeatedly in the face just for acting like an immature, spoiled brat. And that was a lot coming from Rick.

Well, there was always verbal abuse.

"Hey, Harrison," he started, listening to the chorus of heavy breathing amongst the three of them: Harrison erratic, terrified, puffy breaths, Beckett's cool, just-got-done-flying-down-a-fire-escape breath, and his own collected, calm breaths. "You know what's bugging me? If you were that deep in debt, why didn't you just ask your father for the money?"

Beckett yelled, "Castle, you are not helping!"

Castle gave her a wave with his hand, telling her silently to back-off.

"You know what I think?" he plowed through, feeling Harrison's sweat hair rubbing on his exposed neck. He tried not to shiver and the nastiness of it. Man, he needed a shower. "I think you did ask. I think you asked and he said no. I think he always said no. A self-made man like that , I think he thought you were weak for asking."

Harrison hissed into his ear, "She was the one who was weak. I was tryin' to make somethin' with my life and all he cared about was her." Harrison spat her, literally and figuratively and Rick thought that maybe he didn't need a shower with the amount of spit Harrison was showering.

His eyes cut to Beckett.

She was lowering her weapon down, below the rearview mirrors, getting a better angle on their suspect.

Light bulb, Rick thought and said, "That's why you killed her. It wasn't for the money, you wanted to punish him before he died. Take away the only thing he loved. That's a pretty good story!" Harrison banged on the chain-length fence, trying to find an escape. Beckett was cool, calculating.

"Who are you?" Harrison asked Rick.

"Harrison, let him go!" Beckett called coming forward while Harrison's eyes shifted back and forth around the alleyway.

"It's not over!" he sneered. "It's not over. Get back or I swear to God I'll-"

Rick threw his elbow back and felt the satisfying crunch of Harrison's nose breaking under him. He grabbed his arm and took the gun, hopping out of the way so Beckett could get to him. Rick lost his balance and fell to the ground next to Harrison, who had face-planted into a pile of dirt that had been mounting a bouquet of weeds.

Beckett slapped the cuffs on him and then turned to Rick. Her hands connected to his chest and she shoved him backwards. Surprised, he hit the wall pretty hard but not hard enough to bruise.

"What the hell were you thinking; you could have gotten yourself killed!"

"The safety was on the whole time!" Rick defended with a smirk.

Beckett shifted, digging her knee into Harrison's spine. "You know you could've told me."

* * *

><p>On the way back to the Precinct, "Stop and Stare" by OneRepublic played in the car.<p>

Beckett hummed along with the words.

Rick was fascinated.

* * *

><p>"Yes, mother, I will be there to pick her up in an hour," Rick hushed his mother on the other end of the phone. It was only 4 in the afternoon and Martha had called, frantic because she had a date with William Rodgers and wanted to make sure that Rick would be picking up Alexis by 8 that night.<p>

"Good, good," she mumbled. "I will see you soon, Richard."

He smiled. "Thank you, Mother."

There was surprised gasp on the other end of the phone. "You're welcome, darling," she replied, her voice radiant with that same love Rick felt for Alexis. Sometimes, he forgot that his mother was still just his mom. She was an actress, with too many men under her belt, a bit irresponsible, a drinking issue ("Issue, not problem, darling," she once told him the morning after she won her first Tony award), and too many tacky clothes. But she was still his mom.

He hung up the phone and turned around his in his seat to Beckett's waiting eyes. She was finishing up paperwork, her pen hovering at the bottom right hand corner of one of the last of the stack. Rick gave her a look and raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, gingerly setting down his phone.

She shook her head, a wistful expression across her face. "Nothing," she replied quietly, quickly scratching her signature on the paper. She flipped it to the next one, her eyes running across the pages like marathon runner in a 5K. He looked a moment longer, then back down at his own, much larger, stack of paperwork.

His mother always babbled when she got on the phone. A two-minute conversation turned into half an hour with her… every single time.

After a pregnant pause, Kate whispered, "I'm glad you had the opportunity to solve your very first case in Homicide." It was probably thing that Kate had told him that was completely and utterly honest. "Not everyone gets that kind of opportunity." The temperature in the room seemed to drop and he shivered through his sweater.

He narrowed his eyebrows and gave her a questioning look but she didn't look up until the last of her paperwork was set aside.

"Did you?" he offered after another long moment. "Solve your first case in Homicide, I mean."

She shook her head, smiling sadly at her desk. When her eyes met his, he was shocked to see them glassed over. He wasn't sure what he did or said to get this kind of emotional rise out of her.

"No," she whispered, running her fingers along the edge the stack of papers. She hissed when one of the sharp edges gave her a paper cut, halting her confession. She bit her finger, wetting it with her tongue and Rick was aroused, despite the atmosphere in the room.

He was such a little boy sometimes.

She brushed her hands on the top of her blank pants and looked up at him. "It was my… _mother_," she murmured. "She had been stabbed. Five years ago. Six next January." She looked away.

Five years ago Rick would have been 24, Kate probably 19. When he was 24 he was getting high and drunk off his ass, sleeping with any willing girl with a low-cut shirt and a nice body until he met, impregnated, and married Meredith. Kate was grieving the loss of her mother – her mother that had been stabbed to death.

"We were supposed to go to dinner together," she confessed, her arms moving up and down – Rick could imagine that she was rubbing her hands along her thighs, trying to get rid of the nervous sweat. "My mom, my dad, and I and she was going to meet us at the restaurant but she never showed."

She paused bur Rick didn't say anything. He was leaning back in his chair, his mouth open in disbelief and sadness.

"Two hours later, we went home." She took a deep breath. Her hands made their reappearance on her desk. She rubbed her hand along the watch she always wore on left wrist. "And there was a detective waiting for us. Detective Raglan." She looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head in the slightest. The corner of her mouth tugged but it wasn't from amusement like it had earlier that day in her car, on their way to catch a killer.

"They found her body."

Rick felt so very, very sad.

Words couldn't describe the desperation, the utter depression that rocked him as she told her story.

A story he never thought he would hear.

"A robbery?" he offered after a long moment.

She shook her head. "No," she replied and Rick could hear it – that very lonely 19-year-old girl she had been not so long ago. When Rick had coming off his partying phase, into fatherhood, she had been at the lowest point of her life. "She still had her money and purse and jewelry. And it wasn't a sexual assault either."

She finally – _finally_ – met his eyes.

"They attributed it to gang violence. A random, wayward event." He swallowed, glancing away to the pictures he had on his desk of his little girl. His beautiful, stunning little girl. And he thought: what would happen if he just didn't come home? What would Alexis do, 19 years old, if there was a detective – maybe even Kate? – waiting to tell her that her father had been shot, or stabbed, or drowned, or…

"The killer was never caught."

He had so many questions. What did she do after her mother's death? Where did she go? Had she always wanted to be a cop or was this a reaction to the pain, the loss of her mother? Was her mother her best friend? What did her mother look like? Was she as beautiful as Kate? What happened to her father?

Was the killer still out there, taking mothers away from their daughters?

But he asked this one instead: "Why do you wear the watch?" he indicated her fluttering hands, messing with the band of the watch. She swallowed and released the watch.

"My dad took her death hard." She glanced back into his eyes and smiled – a true, real, but fragile smile. "He's sober now. One year sober. So." She pointed to the watch. "This is for the life that I saved. And this," she outlined her neck and a necklace dangled through her long fingers. She caught the engagement ring between her index finger and thumb, studying it with all her focus. "This is for the life that I lost."

He could tell – that was the conclusion. She was done sharing.

The untouchable, unbreakable Katherine Beckett had been broken, had been touchable once. Then some man stole that away from her the moment he penetrated her mother with the knife. He had escaped, untraceable, despite the pain and destructed lives he left in his wake.

"So, I guess there is always a story," she finally offered, giving him a small smile.

He chuckled and leaned forward in his chair. He tapped one of the elephant statues on the head and met her eyes. "I'm used to being right," he volunteered.

She rolled her eyes and laughed out loud, the tears long forgotten – because if someone lived by an ocean of sadness, when did they stop staring into its depths and walk along the sand? Kate Beckett was somewhere in the middle. She was on the sand but the waves were at her feet. He could see it in her eyes.

"I have to pick up my daughter," he told her and removed his hand from the top of the elephant's head as he stood, went to grab his coat. "Grams has a date and I've got pot roast at the loft." Rick offered her his hand in a wave. "Goodnight, Detective."

He started to head for the door, jiggling his keys in his coat pocket. Beckett called out, "Castle."

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that she had swiveled around in her chair. "Let me think about it, okay?" she asked quietly. If the Bullpen wasn't deserted, he probably would have heard her just because of the content of her statement. What a loaded statement.

She nodded to the pictures on her desk, one he had left facing her desk – the one with him holding Alexis as a newborn in the hospital, staring down at his little girl like she was sunshine and he had been in the dark for far too long. And wasn't that the truth?

Alexis had saved him.

He nodded and gave her a small smile. He didn't say a word but he turned around, walking to the elevator, feeling lighter than air. He hadn't realized until then that he was like Atlas – carrying the weight of his world on his shoulder. But the past ten minutes – Kate's, not Beckett's, confession about her mom and the fact that she was thinking about it – had lifted that mass away.

He thought then, as he left – if maybe Beckett had a bit of sunshine in her a well.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Rick had Alexis up on his shoulders telling her to duck, when he was met with flashes of cameras outside the loft. He blinked heavily and squeezed Alexis's legs, a reaction that most parents have when faced with unknown situations – make sure the baby is safe.<p>

Then he heard the voices.

And he realized it wasn't only his daughter's safety he should be concerned for.

"Look, it's the man behind the book!"

"Rick Castle!"

"Castle!"

"Mr. Castle, what was it like to catch a murderer who killed people like you did in your books?"


	11. Deal

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 10 – "Deal"<em>

* * *

><p>There were more reporters at the Precinct.<p>

Rick didn't really know what to do with himself. He didn't know how he should proceed to the doors from the car. Should he just shove through them, pushing them to the ground if they touched him? Should he answer their questions? Maybe just one or two? But they had harassed him at home – when he was with his daughter.

They didn't deserve his answers.

Resolved, Rick grabbed his messenger bag and roughly pushed the door open. He said a quick goodbye to the driver, Ronald, and moved through the crowd. The words were similar: _Rick Castle! Where do you get your ideas? I'm your biggest fan! How do you lead this double life? What was your reaction when you found out your books were being plagiarized for real-life murder?_

He ignored them as best he could. A new character was developing in his mind – a ruthless reporter. The character was a woman with blond hair and too much makeup – similar to the woman who was talking quickly into Channel 7's microphone, trying to walk next to him; she was nearly clotheslined by two more. This reporter would be annoying, egotistical, but someone who got the story written, got the job done. A vulture.

Only this character – Veronica, sounded like a good name – would be able to get him to answer questions. None of these other schmucks.

The door was just in front of him. He felt like he was going slow-motion at the end of a race. Before he reached the handle, the door burst open and he was faced with Captain Montgomery.

A furious Captain Montgomery.

"At this time," he called angrily out to the bunch of reporters. He shoved Rick behind his back and inside the building. "Detective Rodgers has nothing to say. Show's over, folks. Now get out of here before I arrest all of you for harassing an officer of the law."

The echo of the door shutting behind him rang across the lobby of the Precinct. A small crowd had gathered inside, and they all stared wide-eyed at the captain and at Rick (Rodgers) Caste.

Montgomery ignored them and looked at Rick. "You okay, Rodgers?"

Rick nodded, a little stunned when the anger vanished from his superior's face. Rick was about 98 percent sure that he was going to be in the deepest trouble when he got here this morning. He had no idea how his real identity had leaked to the press, but he was for sure that his captain was going to be pissed.

Instead, he looked like he felt sorry for Rick.

Montgomery nodded to the elevator and Rick followed behind him. The elevator ride was quiet. It was so quiet and so full of tension that Rick nervously tapped his fingers on his jeans and listened intently to the elevator music. Something about a fish in the sea – he immediately thought about his mother saying, "Darling, there are more fish in the sea" two days after Meredith had told him she had been cheating on him.

Kate Beckett was the first person he saw when the elevator doors opened. There were many other faces – to many other faces – passing by him but hers was the only one he caught. She wasn't even facing him. She was hunched over her desk, either writing or reading but she as so captivated, her nose was practically pressed up against the top of her desk.

In any other instance, he would have found it adorable – and he would have totally called her out on it, too – but today, he just felt a rush of disappointment that she – unlike everyone else – hadn't been waiting for him.

He went ahead and followed Montgomery into his office, even though the captain hadn't said anything about it.

Beckett glanced at him when he set his messenger bag on his desk but she didn't say anything. He saw that she was reading the _New York Times_ – the front was his official NYPD portrait with the headline, "MYSTERY NOVELIST RICK CASTLE REVEALED AS ONE OF NEW YORK'S FINEST" It was a great headline – but Rick didn't want it.

He hadn't wanted any of this fame.

When he was 20, sure, fame was great. But now he had a daughter who he wanted to protect. He had a job he wanted to keep. He had an ex-wife he wanted to get rid of (and wouldn't, now, because she was attracted to the spotlight and now Rick had his own.) He had a partner who didn't take him seriously – and now she probably never would.

Rick could feel his shoulders rising with tension.

"Sit down, Rick."

The Captain's voice was soft and smooth, like a father's voice. Rick obliged, sighing greatly. A flask was offered to him and he took it, drank too much and sputtered as the alcohol tracked down his throat. It burned all the way down to his stomach. After a minute, he felt the calming effect of the alcohol begin to run through his blood.

"Is Alexis okay?" It was Montgomery's first question. For some reason, the sincerity and content of the question made Rick want to cry or curl up into a ball. Or both. Probably both. Definitely both.

"I think so," he answered honestly. "I don't know. She was scared." There were tears, too. Only a doughnut and a carton of chocolate milk from her favorite café calmed her down. She was twenty minutes late to school but Rick didn't care. He couldn't leave her at that place when she was sad.

If he hadn't had to go into work that day, he would have just kept her. They would have had a _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ marathon (she was only two and she had the _biggest_ crush on Captain Picard). They would have made homemade chocolate-chip cookies and order in pizza from Ray's.

God, all he wanted to do was go home and hold his little girl, listen to her squeal about the Captain, and eat junk food.

But he was here.

And everything was falling apart.

"I'm sorry this happened, Rick," Captain Montgomery offered quietly.

"Me too."

The phone cut off their conversation. Montgomery looked at the receiver suspiciously, but picked it up and greeted, "Captain Montgomery." A few nods followed and one "Yes, sir." He set down the phone and looked at it for a long time. Rick couldn't seem to get his superior's attention.

"Sir," he said quietly. "What it is?"

Montgomery swallowed. "That," he replied, "was the mayor. He requested a meeting with you. Now."

* * *

><p>He was sweating. Sweating everywhere. Under his sweater and white t-shirt, it was all slick and not in a good way. Not in that, "<em>Yeah, I just got done working out, check me out<em>" way but more in the way of: "_I just ate like fifty hot dogs and I think I have food poisoning_."

Rick felt like how as going to throw up.

On the marble floors of city hall. In front of the mayor.

The secretary walked out of the mayor's office and nodded for Rick to proceed inside. The office was on the corner of the building. Two walls were floor-to-ceiling windows. Another wall had a stylish leather couch with side table and a matching lamp. The mayor's desk was a huge oak slab with chips and impressions, giving it a rustic vibe. The wall to Rick's left was all filing cabinets. Rick wondered what the mayor had to file.

Rick's eyes landed on the mayor. He was a tall black man with kind eyes and a perfectly pressed, three-piece suit. When Rick entered, the man showed his bright white teeth in a huge grin, and stood up. One of the chairs in front of his desk was already occupied with someone.

When that person turned around, Rick was stunned by the black hair, low-cut dress, and six-inch heels.

"Paula?" was the only thing he could sputter.

"Richard," she greeted with a polite sneer (if such a thing existed).

"Rick Castle!" bellowed the mayor, coming forward. He clasped Rick's hand in his. He remembered his manners and smiled at the leader of the city and gripped his hand in return. "It's so nice to finally know the man behind the writing. God, I've been reading your novels since _A Skull at Springtime_. A helpless girl discovering a field full of corpses?" He shivered. "That was a fantastic novel."

Rick nodded and said, "Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from the mayor of New York City."

The two men let go hands and Rick absentmindedly rubbed his palm. The man had a grip. Paula came striding up behind the mayor and said, "Thanks for coming, Richard. We have much to discuss." She gestured to the shares and both men followed her motion.

The mayor sat behind his desk and Rick gingerly sat down next to Paula. He shrunk in his seat, unconsciously, because he didn't know what to expect from this meeting.

"Well," Paula started. "I've assumed that you've seen the _New York Times_ today."

Rick nodded. "Yeah," he replied bitterly, despite the mayor's presence. He glared at Paula, "and the paparazzi outside my building and the Precinct. Quite the surprise, that's for sure."

Paula laughed. "Well, I thought it was best that the public finally be introduced to the real Rick Castle!"

Rick was furious. He stood up, rocking the chair back – it almost fell to the floor. He knew – somewhere in the back of his head – that he shouldn't be screaming at his agent in front of the mayor of New York City. It was wildly inappropriate. And childish. But Rick's anger won out in the end.

"Why would you do that, Paula?" he screeched. "I can't believe you leaked that information to the public! Part of my contract states that my identity must remain anonymous."

Paula waved him off and looked at the mayor. "The mayor and I thought it would be a good decision to make." Before Rick had a chance to respond, Paula continued, "There were so many people that already knew about your identity. Hell, the entire Precinct knew. We only took advantage of the opportunity before someone in the station could leak it to the press."

"Opportunity? What opportunity?"

He looked at the mayor for help. Bob, the mayor. On the day that he meets the mayor, his blood sucking publicist is here to ruin it. Meeting the mayor was supposed to be awesome. Not a proposition.

"The opportunity for your new book," the mayor responded. "Paula said that your next book was supposed to be even more captivating that your previous novels."

Paula nodded. "Do you know what the publicity will do for the ratings? The sales will skyrocket!"

Rick was still confused. "My… new book?"

Paula lifted a delicate eyebrow. "You had a manuscript, due three weeks ago, Rick."

He nodded. "Right. I've been… busy. With work. And Alexis. It's been a hard adjustment."

She sighed. "Excuses, excuses," she waved him off again. She was good at waving him off. He felt like a fly trying to get on her sandwich – she would just keep brushing him away and he would come fluttering back, the fool. "I was hoping this would… encourage you to write a little faster." She smiled evilly.

The mayor didn't seem to notice. "I just wanted to help," he offered when Rick gave him a helpless glance. "I think this kind of publicity will be good for the NYPD." Rick looked down to the ground. He didn't know what to say, do. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond.

His whole life had been uprooted.

He was on the cover of the newspaper.

Everyone knew who he was.

"Look, Rick," the mayor said, coming around the corner of his desk and resting a hand on Rick's shoulder. "I have children too. I love them more than anything and I would do anything to protect them. Despite the media attention on our family, my wife and I have raised them to be responsible, humble young adults. They're great kids. I know that your daughter – Alexis, is it? – will be fine."

Rick nodded.

His phone went off, making him jump. He laughed nervously and the mayor smiled. Paula shot him a look as he answered. Clearly, this was not the time to be answering his phone. Screw her, he thought and said, "Rodgers."

"Are you coming back soon, Rodgers?" Kate Beckett asked. "We've got a triple homicide on our hands."

Rick swallowed. "Yeah, yeah, I should be back in an hour."

He clicked his phone off and looked at the mayor, Paula. "Well…" he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "That was the Precinct. I've got a case. Um, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Mayor." He offered his hand again and the man took it and shook it as firmly as he did before.

"Please, call me Bob."

"Bob." Rick nodded. Paula stood up and clicked over to his side. She kissed his cheek, squeezing his upper arms with her thin, but strong, hands. "Don't think you're off the hook," she hissed into his ear. "Get your head the hell out of your ass and put something on Gina's desk by the end of the week. You won't want to see me on Monday if you haven't."

She kissed his other cheek. "Don't think you're off the hook either, Paula," he warned. "We're not done talking about this. Next time, you don't get to hide behind the mayor."

She leaned back, giving him a wink. "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

><p>"Got you a coffee," Beckett offered him a cup when he returned to the Precinct with the beginnings of a migraine.<p>

He took a sip, and realized it wasn't the crap they had in the office. She actually went out and bought him coffee. Despite his absolutely shitty day, this made it seem less… well, shitty. He smiled. "Thanks, Beckett."

She nodded and looked back at their white board.

He did the same. They sat on the edges of their desks, staring at their three victims. Chloe Whitman, a chemistry teacher; Maya Santori, a sculptor; Todd McCutchin, a vending machine salesman were all found dead with bullets from the same gun. None of them were connected. They were in completely different social groups – how would they know each other?

"I can't find it," Beckett shook her head. "I can't find the answer."

Rick turned his head to find her biting her lip. He wanted her to stop doing that – it made her look incredibly sexy, extremely innocent, and slightly pained all at the same time. God, he wanted to kiss those lips. He looked away, back to the board of people. He couldn't kiss her. He couldn't be with her. He couldn't do anything about her.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" he asked randomly. She gave him a look. "About the front page of the paper. My call to the mayor's office. My new-found fame."

She gave him the tiniest smile and shrugged. "Famous or not, doesn't change the fact that I'm still stuck with you either way." He rolled his eyes at her and wondered briefly if he had somehow gotten that from her. "It's not like your ego could get much bigger anyway. I'm already suffocating."

"Thanks."

They shared a grin and looked back at the board.

While she stared at their victims, the evidence, he stared at her. The straight line of her nose, her long lashes, the lushness of her lips. The way her eyes caressed the pictures, like a man to his lover. Like he would be to her.

"I'll make you a deal," he offered after a moment.

"A deal?" she repeated slowly, giving him one of those "_you're about to say something stupid_" looks.

He hummed in response. "If I figure out the connection first, then you have to advocate for me for full-custody for Alexis next month, November 18th."

Her eyes were playful, suspicious, and very, very naughty.

"And if I win," she went along. "Then you have to… buy the Precinct an espresso machine. And make me coffee at my request, any time of the day." She grinned.

Hah, he thought. Sucker. He would do that anyway. She only needed to ask.

He lifted his left hand across his stomach to her waiting one. "Deal," they said together, shaking once. When they let go, Rick felt his hand sizzle upon contact. Her hands were soft and warm – he wondered what her hands would feel like on other parts of his body…

Stop it, Rick.

Dead puppies. Think of dead puppies.

"What if they figure it out first?" he nodded to the guys behind them, distracting himself from his less than honorable thoughts. They turned their heads to look at Ryan trying to balance an egg on the edge of his desk, Esposito reading a motorcycle magazine with his feet propped up on some of his paperwork.

They looked at each other. "Nah."


	12. CIA's a Popular Theory with You

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 11 – "CIA's a Popular Theory with You"<em>

* * *

><p>By the time Rick picked Alexis up at the daycare, she had (hopefully) completely forgotten the incident with the reporters. She skipped out of her classroom, all sunshine and rainbows, innocence and smiles wrapped in long red hair and bright blue eyes that matched her father's perfectly.<p>

He made spaghetti for dinner with homemade garlic bread. He even popped a bottle of red wine for himself, and let Alexis drink grape juice ("So we match, Daddy") despite the sugar content. They split a big piece of cheesecake that Rick picked up from the bakery down the street and settled in to watch _The Little Mermaid_, one of Alexis's favorite movies. She had a fondness for Arial, because their hair was the same color.

It wasn't until bedtime that she spoke of the paparazzi.

"Daddy, why were those people taking our pictures?" she asked, slapping her forearms down on top of her comforter, watching the way the blanket rolled out from the hit. Her bright eyes looked up at Rick and he rubbed the stubble on this chin, trying to decide what to say. She knew she wasn't supposed to tell people that Daddy wrote books because it was a secret. His anonymous status was the reason why she had a normal life.

How would she react, to have that rug ripped out from under her?

Would she still maintain her beautiful innocence as a young girl with a father in the spotlight?

As he looked down at his daughter, all the other reasons for wanting to remain anonymous vanished. This was why he hadn't wanted to have "Richard Rodgers" gracing the covers of his novels. Because he wanted his little girl to have a normal life – one where she would make friends and not have to worry if they were really her friends or if they were awestruck by her father's fame.

He had been subjected to that when he was a child. "_Oh, you're Ricky Rodgers, Martha Rodger's kid? How precious! I love your mother's work. Please, will you have her sign this_?" Parents, teachers, even children would give him photographs, notebook paper, and clothing articles to be signed. His mother was always dating his classmates' single fathers.

Rick shook his head, ridding himself of the less-than-wonderful memories.

"You remember Daddy's secret, pumpkin?"

She nodded, biting her lip, her eyes wide and full of concern. Only five-years-old and already a mother, he thought, amused and slightly horrified. "Well," he went on. "Paula, Daddy's agent, told the newspapers and TV stations that I'm Richard Castle."

"But, you're not, Daddy. You're Rodgers, not _Castle_."

He laughed and ran a hand down her face. He kissed her cheek. "That's right, sweetie," he exclaimed, awestruck by her beauty. "But when I write books, who am I?"

She bit her lip, worrying. "You… you're Castle then, right Daddy?"

"That's right," he replied. "I'm Castle when I write books. When the newspapers found out, they wanted our picture because the people that read my books want to know what I look like."

She giggled, covering her mouth, a polite gesture she picked up from her mother. "That's silly, Daddy."

"Why's that?"

"Because books aren't movies! They don't need to see you. You can't see in a book. Unless there's pictures." She paused and Rick tried so hard not to just pick her up, squeeze her with a hug, and feed her mountains of ice cream for being the best daughter in the world. She concluded, "And Daddy's books don't have pictures."

He nodded. "You're right. People _are_ silly."

She hummed and lay back on her bed.

"Daddy, can you tell me a story?"

"Always," he smiled.

* * *

><p>"Still no luck?"<p>

He had a much easier time trying to get into the Precinct this morning. He left his car underground in the parking garage so there weren't any flashes or unwanted reporters hounding him on the way up to the Precinct. His mother picked up Alexis that morning and told him that she wanted to take her away, to the Hamptons for a long weekend. Rick had agreed, thinking that this case was going to require at least one all-nighter on his part.

Rick set down a travel mug onto Beckett's desk. She was sitting at her chair instead of standing in front of the white board like he had left her the night before.

"None," she clipped. "Thanks for the coffee." She picked up the mug and took a long drink. When an almost-moan came tumbling from her lips, it took all of Rick's control not to jump across his desk and have his wicked way with her on the floor. How could someone wearing a conservative black turtleneck and even more conservative bun be so sexy at… eight in the morning?

Only Kate Beckett.

He looked at their victims. No more bodies had dropped since the day before – this was a big indicator that the murderer had a reason to kill these people, not just for the thrill of it. The killer knew what he or she was doing. Something must have happened. These people were connected. Not in their social circles, or their jobs. Then where?

"Did we find anything in their background checks?"

Beckett shrugged, swiveling in her chair to face the board, mimicking his movement perfectly. "Well, we went as far back as grade school. Nothing's popped yet." He could feel her eyes on her.

"Maybe they're top CIA agents, targeted for termination," he glanced at her; she looked away hastily, back to the board.

"CIA's a popular theory with you." He could hear her struggle to remain calm and collected. Interesting.

He shrugged. "Comes with the territory."

She rolled her eyes, took another long drag of the coffee. "Well," she quipped, giving him a long look, "if we don't find a connection soon, I might have to agree with you."

"I knew you'd see it my way eventually."

Before she could respond, Esposito came to them and told Beckett, "Todd McCutchin's fiancé is here. She's in conference room one." Beckett nodded, all serious once again, and grabbed a couple of files. She looked at Castle and nodded towards the room.

"You coming?"

He nodded, taking a sip of his coffee before grabbing a pen and notepad, following Beckett's tail.

They walked to the entrance and as soon as Beckett's hand grasped the handle, Rick's cell phone rang loudly. Beckett pressed her lips together in annoyance, looked at him. Paula was calling – finally. After putting Alexis to bed, he had called her several times, hoping to have a chat about her stunt with the paparazzi.

He sighed. "I've gotta take this," he told Beckett, looking up with her, an apology reflecting in his eyes. "It's my agent. Castle business." He shook his head, wishing the "Castle" people in his life had better timing. He loved his job – both of them – but he hated how they were now interweaving without his control.

Beckett gave him a small smile, an amused sigh escaping her lips. "It's fine, Castle," she told him. "The fiancé might respond better if it's just us two anyway."

* * *

><p>The bell above the coffee shop's door rang loudly when Rick stepped inside.<p>

It was well-played, smart of Paula to pick a calm, quiet atmosphere in what Rick wanted to be a screaming match more than a meeting. He wanted to fight with the woman about what she had done. He wanted to call her names – awful, horrible names – and threaten her with her job as his agent if she tried to pull such a stunt again.

She was sitting near the back of the room, an abandoned table. Good, he thought, he could at least have a quiet yelling-match with her.

She was sipping coffee when he approached and plopped down in the seat across from her. He removed his jacket and crossed his arms, on the defense.

"You're a bitch, you know that," he went ahead and dove in, not one for small talk (or trial runs at the diving board).

Her eyebrows rose as she took another sip of her coffee. "I've been told that many a time, Richard, and yet…" she grinned at him, "I'm still here."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," he sneered. She took another delicate sip of her coffee and crossed her arms to match him, ready for battle. "You deliberately went behind my back and broke the number one rule on our contract. I have every right to fire you, as does Black Pawn."

She laughed. "You won't fire me."

"You're sure of that?"

She smirked. "I've done worse crap to you throughout the years, Richard. Don't forget, I'm the one who told you about Meredith and Derek… in your home, on your bed."

Rick felt his face flush. He threw that bed out the day after Meredith had left. Burned the mattress and had stuffed the bedframe in the trash by his building. Before that, he had slept on the couch. The fact that his wife had slept with not just some other man – but his freaking _partner_ – on his bed, was enough to make him sick to his stomach.

It had.

"You didn't fire me then, at your lowest," she told him. "You won't fire me over this."

He shook his head, feeling reservation already course throughout his veins. What a wimp, he thought, pussy. He should be able to put her down to her place, tell her that he was her boss and she had no reason to think that she was going to keep her job. And yet she always came out on top.

"Why did you do it?"

She shrugged. "Publicity, mostly. And punishment, maybe. You are very, very far behind on your manuscript, Rick."

"So, subjecting to public humiliation and attention from a fourth of the city's population was your way to get me to write faster? That's bullshit, Paula. You did this for you. Because you love the spotlight but don't have the talent to back it up. You want to destroy my life for your own benefit."

"_Ouch_," she said, venom seeping from her lips. "I'm hurt, Ricky." She paused, took another sip. Rick squeezed his fists together so he wouldn't punch her in the face. Can't hit a woman, he reminded himself. He would not hit a woman, even if she deserved every punch.

After a long moment, she reached across the table and ran her manicured fingers along Rick's arm. "I'm sorry, Rick, for not telling you beforehand," she whispered. "But this will be good for you. Too many people knew about Castle and it was bound to come out eventually. I just beat everyone to the punch, Rick. This will help you, in the long run."

He shook his head slowly, and shrugged off her hand. "I don't see how," he replied, grief making its ugly appearance. "I wanted my daughter to have a normal life, Paula."

"Don't you think she's smart enough not to get sucked in?" she asked him. Rick looked at her, surprised. She had never like Alexis not for any other reason than her utter disdain for children. "You don't give her much credit. She's a smart little girl. She won't fall in to the trap, Rick. She's not you."

"You can't be sure."

"No, not one hundred percent," she replied. "But I'm sure enough to bet my job on it." She dug through her purse, keys jingling and papers ruffling before she pulled out a thin tube of lipstick. She popped off the cap and applied a deep red to her lips. "Besides, you deserve a little recognition. Your books are brilliant, even if they're not Shakespeare."

"Thank you for that," he replied sarcastically, feeling their relationship mend with the words. It was always like this between them. He might have been giving up too easy – maybe he should have fired her. But she was right: Alexis was a smart little girl, the smartest. She wouldn't fall into the trap of drugs, money, and sex like other celebrity children.

Rick had fallen in the trap.

But he had raised her better than that.

"Now that we're done with that ugly conversation," Paula offered, putting the lipstick away. "Coffee?"


	13. Don't Gloat, it's Really Unattractive

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 12 – "Don't Gloat, it's really Unattractive"<em>

* * *

><p>Rick was back in his car and in traffic when his lawyer called.<p>

"Brian," Rick offered, with a guilty smile that his lawyer could surely hear, despite their distance.

"Ricky," Brian Hernandez gave it back. "I'm not trying to pressure you, man, but the court appearance is in less than a month. November 18th, right?" Rick was nodding through the chastising.

He knew that he had a deadline to get someone to testify on his behalf. To advocate for him.

Wasn't he always on a deadline?

The books, the murders, the court date? Always on time.

Tick, tick, ticking, like a clock.

"I thought you were going to get your partner to appear before you…" There was a ruffling of papers on the other end and a sudden heavy breath – Brian must have pressed the phone up against his collar bone to look through the papers. "This, Kate Beckett. Detective Kate Beckett," he corrected. "Did that fall through?"

"No, no," Rick pinched the bridge of his nose as he stopped at another red light. He needed to get back to the Precinct in a matter of minutes, not hours. He had a bet to win. He just prayed to God that the evidence somehow lined up with him and not Kate Beckett.

Though that was unlikely – "Yeah, it's still on, Brian. She refused at first but I'm… improvising. She'll say yes."

Brian let out a loud laugh that had Rick smiling as well. Brian Hernandez – despite his extreme (and brutal) honesty and horrid track record with women (four wives and counting) – he was a great friend and a good drinking buddy. Rick couldn't even remember how many times they went out to the pub by his office to complain about the wives, eat peanuts, and drink good, fresh beer.

"I hope so, man, for your sake," he replied. "Little Lexis deserves to be with her good parent, not her available parent."

"Thanks."

There was a sound of a clicking tongue on the other end of the phone, a silent, _No problem_. "Wanna grab a beer sometime this weekend, Ricky? Catch up on life, talk about love. I met a great girl online the other day. I need your approval before meeting her in real life. "

Rick rolled his eyes. _Damn that eHarmony_.

"Sure," he replied easily. "Maybe on Saturday night? Mother wants to take Alexis out of town to the Hamptons for a long weekend. She doesn't have daycare on Monday because the church is hosting some kind of huge convention."

"Sounds good. See you then."

"Yep."

Rick clicked off the phone just as he pulled up to the underground parking lot by the Precinct. He caught a flash of photographers still mingling outside the building but for the most part, Rick's fifteen minutes of fame was over. There was the article earlier in the week and, of course, the whole mayor-thing the day before. But there hadn't been any reporters outside his home since that first day after Paula's big reveal.

After parking his car, Rick leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath and blocked out the conversation with Paula. He couldn't focus on her craziness right now: she may have disrupted his life now, but he knew that she knew what she was dong; this was for his benefit… eventually. In the unforeseeable future. But still in the future.

Instead, Rick thought about his daughter. Her cute little pigtails and the little dress she had picked out this morning: with little white polka dots and a white collar. She looked like a little prairie girl skipping from his arms into her classroom. He remembered how beautiful her mother looked in dresses and how he mourned the loss of that relationship. Through her faults, Rick had loved Meredith once. He had loved her tiny nose, her beautiful red hair, her laugh.

Then, it all changed.

Brunette flowing hair and conservative turtlenecks made their appearance, blotching out all the thoughts of his failed marriage. Kate Beckett's eyes were staring at him and that little smile she gave him sometimes filled the blackness of his mind's eye. She had a beauty mark under her left eye; he really wanted to run his finger across it, make sure it wasn't just the slip of makeup – to prove that even if she wasn't perfect, she was still flawless.

He didn't know what Kate Beckett was doing to him.

Sure, he was a romantic. But he was good at guarding his heart. He wasn't even divorced yet and already he was wondering how he could somehow adjust his job arrangements to maybe start a relationship with his partner. It wasn't even about sex. Okay. It was about sex but not all of it. What he really wanted was to talk to her. He wanted to ask about her mother's murder, her father's whereabouts, why she read his books. He had so many questions.

He wanted to date her.

He wanted to make love to her. With her.

He wanted… too much. So much.

The problem was she wouldn't give him the time of day outside the damn Precinct.

He opened his eyes.

He needed to find that connection first.

* * *

><p>She was back at the board by the time he returned to the Twelfth, with the addition of Ryan and Esposito hovering behind her.<p>

There was a suspect added, finally, to their blank space on the white canvas: Carbino. He looked like a loan shark. "Who's the creep?" Rick asked.

"A guy Todd was making payments to," Esposito supplied. "According to the fiancé, he fell behind." Esposito pointed to their man: an Italian (mafia?) descendent, with trademark black hair, dark skin, and a deadly look. "Carbino here threatened to kill him."

"But in the interview with him," Ryan finished, "he said that Todd paid him back all the fifteen thousand he owed him, plus interest. However, he has a solid alibi, date with the Mrs., so he's not our guy. "

Rick hummed. "Do we have McCutchin's financials?"

Ryan and Esposito turned; Beckett's eyes were already on him. "Yeah, they should be coming up shortly… why?"

_Sign from God_, Rick wondered.

"Well, that's a lot of money for a guy in the vending machine business. And he paid the fifteen thousand back _plus_ interest? Where did _that_ come from?" He raised an eyebrow, full of challenge.

Beckett's eyes filled with clarification just a second before the boys' did. In a matter of minutes, they were up and sprinting to the second conference room, where many pizza boxes and Chinese food containers littered the large table when late nights were in order to solve a case.

The papers were already printing when they reached it and Beckett snatched up the files first, spreading them across the table for easy access. Rick grabbed a bank statement and plopped down in a chair.

Beckett sat down right next to him, her eyes already sweeping across the page like a marathon runner. He prided himself with his speed reading, but she was doing a pretty good job. "You know," she offered as soon as Ryan and Esposito scooted their chairs up to the table, "McCutchin was overdrawn in his account until two weeks ago. Then, ninety-five hundred dollars just suddenly appears."

Rick looked up from the paper he had been scanning when Esposito said, "Two weeks ago?" At Beckett's nod, he continued, "Maia Santori has a similar history. Until two weeks ago, when ninety-five hundred was deposited, on the seventh of October."

"Same for Chloe Whiteman," Ryan broke in. "Ninety-five hundred, two weeks ago."

"So," Beckett concluded. "That means they were all getting their money from the same source.

"And," Rick put in. "They were spending it in the same place. All three of them spent less than twenty bucks at a place called KCBC. I'm guessing it wasn't Kansas City Barbeque." Rick looked up, happy with the pun and with the victory. Beckett was giving him that dead-pan look. Ryan and Esposito just looked confused.

"Where's the C, genius?" she challenged.

_Uh_…

She shook her head. "Never mind." She turned to her guys, gave them further instructions. Contact the banks, the credit card companies. Find out what KCBC meant and where it was. Rick raised his eyebrows and hid his smirk horribly. He was putting the papers back together, stacking them. The boys left the room, leaving them alone.

"Don't think this means you've won the bet," she finally regarded him, rolling her eyes. He looked at her, smiling. "All we know is that they are connected, we still don't know _how_."

He scoffed. "Better start practicing on complimenting me, Beckett. You've got a court appearance on November 18th."

She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"Don't gloat," she sneered. "It's really unattractive."

She glared at him but he didn't think she really meant it.

* * *

><p>It turned out their three victims were involved in something illegal.<p>

Ryan came with the news just as Rick was packing up to leave. It was almost seven and his mother had another date so she was unavailable to babysit Alexis. It was Thursday – tomorrow, Martha would be taking Alexis to the Hamptons… then he could finally take someone's overnight shift here. He doubted Ryan and Esposito slept here but he had no doubts about Beckett. Meredith was one for makeup – he could tell when women were using too much concealer to hide the bags.

Not that Kate looked anything less than beautiful, but still. He could tell she needed some sleep.

"I'll be in early tomorrow," he looked up at her, slipping the case files into his messenger bag. "Go home tonight, Beckett. Sleep."

She waved him off, still staring at the board.

"Yeah," she said offhandedly. "I'll see you."

Rick bid the boys farewell with a wave across the bullpen and he entered the elevator, feeling the fatigue of the day finally resting heavily on his shoulders. He couldn't believe that morning he had been sitting across from Paula at Starbucks as Rick Castle, and now he was totally and utterly Richard Rodgers: exhaustion, stressed, and all that jazz.

The ride back home was fairly short compared to the drive that morning.

Alexis was hiding behind the corner of the foyer, waiting to scare him. He called out, "Mother, Alexis!" after unlocking the door. He was attacked as his daughter came hurtling toward him, her pig tails free of their bonds, running wild. She was wearing her all black pajamas – she called them her ninja PJs.

She called out a battle cry and grabbed onto Rick's leg, squeezing tightly. He stumbled, not expecting the extra (though small) weight of his two-year-old daughter. "What is this?" he yelled in a strange, gruff voice. "Is it a leech? Ah!"

"No, Daddy!" Alexis giggled. "I'm a ninja. Like _Ninja Assassin_. Duh."

Oh, why had he watched that movie with her in the house again? He should have known she would have sensed the word 'ninja' on the TV menu and would creep out of her room at midnight to watch the beheading of a gang member.

"It's like raising two children, not one," his mother offered, waltzing down from the top of the stairs. She had a room on the second floor because they both preferred for Alexis to sleep as often as she could at home in her own bed. Tonight, she was wearing an exquisite gown – a long, red sparkly number with a sweetheart neckline; her heels were tall and black and shiny along with the clutch she held under her arm.

Rick laughed at her, grabbing Alexis by the armpits and raising her to eye-level. "Hey, pumpkin," he muttered, kissing her cheek. She reached out her arms and he hugged her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his chest, squeezing him as tight as she could.

"I missed you, Daddy," she whispered into his shirt.

"Missed you too."

When he opened his eyes and released his daughter from the hug, his mother was watching and smiling all-knowingly, like she was full of wisdom and fortune. He smiled back at her because through everything – every failed marriage, every bone-crushing hug, and every late night – she was still his mother. His parent.

And he loved her – he was so grateful for her.

He lowered Alexis to the ground and she scampered off, probably to go sit back in front of the television – he could hear _Mulan_ playing… "_I'll make a man out of you_!" sang the movie.

"Bye, darling," his mother offered, patting his arm.

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Have fun with William, Mother."

His mother raised a gentle eyebrow and a corner of her lip turned upward. "I will. Now, I will be picking up Alexis to take her to school tomorrow but I am unavailable until then, you hear me?"

Rick made a gagging sound. "Yeah, got it."

Martha rolled her eyes and grabbed her clutch, holding it in her hand instead of by the armpit. She patted his arm again and then let herself out. Rick locked the door behind her and then turned around, already hearing the next song of the movie playing. It was his favorite one: "_A girl worth fighting for_!"

* * *

><p>It was past midnight.<p>

Rick glanced at the clock.

Yeah, it was long past midnight.

Chloe Whiteman, Maia Santori, and Todd McCutchin's pictures were all staring at him in the darkness. He had turned off the lamp long ago because the cream-collared shine it gave the walls was giving him a migraine. Now, working by moonlight, he was struggling to keep his eyes on the evidence.

What did a high school chemistry teacher, a chemist, and a vending machine salesman all have in common?

Nothing. Not even the stuff in Rick Castle's head was making any sense.

He heard his phone vibrate in the kitchen. The quiet had settled over the loft a long time before and even in the living room, Rick could hear every little sound that went off in the house. He could faintly hear Alexis's fan upstairs. He could hear the tapping of the leaky sink in the half-bath just off the entrance of the house. He could hear the ticking of the clock in the kitchen, above the sink. Something as little as his phone made the loudest noise when the quiet settled over the house.

His phone vibrated again.

Leaving the faces behind, he pressed his palms onto his thighs and pushed himself up. He moved sluggishly towards the kitchen. His feet dragged themselves like a zombie's would but by the time Rick had made it to the kitchen and turned his phone on, the bright light left him squinting and feeling more like a vampire.

Two text messages from Beckett.

The first text: _KCBC is a club. All three of them went there, worked there part time. Owners of the club did the tattoos on Santori and Whiteman's arms. They said they were work friends. Weren't personal_.

The second text message: _I hate this case_.

Rick smiled and shot her a quick text, shuffling back to the living room. He replied, _I know, isn't it great_? It was about a third sarcasm, and the rest just cuteness. He liked being cute with Beckett. He was usually rewarded with an eye roll or a glare but sometimes – when she was really upset or exhausted – he would hear her laugh.

Her laugh didn't sparkle like Alexis's did.

But man, was it ever shiny.

Rick pulled up her first text message again. _KCBC_. _Owners were tattoo artists_. He fell back on to the couch, leaning his head back and pressing he heels of his palms into each eye, trying to wake himself back up. Exhaustion was a bitch. He hated it like no other. He had a case to solve – a deeper connection to make. _How_ were they involved?

He didn't have time for sleep.

When his phone vibrated again, he was only mildly surprised – his senses dulled when it was late at night. He didn't type as well, didn't think as fast, didn't move as quickly. He was kind of worthless of midnight. He wasn't sure why he was still up. Oh, right, Alexis. The bet. Man, he needed to sleep.

_Very funny. It's like a bad joke. A group of unrelated people walk into a Burlesque bar. Somehow, they made a bunch of money got get themselves killed_.

A chemistry teacher. A sculptor. A vending machine salesman. _Tattoos_…

_Made a bunch of money._

"And got themselves killed."

Rick gasped, shooting back up into a seated position. He looked down at the faces of their victims. "That's it," he muttered, grabbing their pictures. They were into something illegal, he thought, his eyes racing over their faces. His fingers gently let go of the pictures and the fluttered back down to the coffee table. He struggled at picking up their bank statements. Each of them had financial problems until that same day two weeks ago.

"It's counterfeiting," he smiled. No, not smiled – grinned. He was grinning, wasn't he?

He fumbled with his phone, quickly pressing through to the text messaging. He sent Beckett a message, even though it was lacking the eloquence of his normal texts.

_You still in_?_ I'm coming_.

Rick shoved his cell into the back pocket of his jeans and gathered all of the files, stuffing the haphazardly into his messenger bag. He grabbed his laptop, snapped it shut, put it in a safe pocket of the bag. Then, he took the stairs two-by-two to grab his daughter. He gently opened her door the whole way.

Alexis had flipped over in her sleep onto her stomach. He squatted down next to her, trying to be gentle but adrenaline was racing so quickly he wasn't sure if he was succeeding. His heart was pounding so loud he swore it would wake her up before anything else. He rubbed her back.

"Alexis, sweetie," he whispered softly. "Alexis."

The little girl groaned and he thought maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should wait until the following morning. His phone vibrated in his pocket as Alexis started to stir. He pulled it out, saw it was from Beckett: _Just got back from the club_. S_taring at the board_. _Don't you have Alexis_?

"Daddy?" Alexis muttered, pouting at him. "Daddy, it's still dark. I'm still tired."

She tried to settle back into her pillow but Rick picked her up, gripping under her armpits. She rested her head on his shoulder, lolling almost as soon as he had a steady grip. He grabbed Monkey Bunkey and a pillow, knowing that he had a blanket in his desk for the inevitable nap on a break room couch.

He walked slowly down the stairs and fiddled with his daughter and the pillow to get his messenger bag on his shoulder. His phone vibrated again and again – someone was calling, probably Beckett. He had run out of hands two hands ago and he didn't have the time to answer the phone.

* * *

><p>Beckett was kind enough to wait until he had Alexis tucked away onto a break room couch, cuddling Monkey Bunkey and snoozing before she started yelling at him.<p>

"What the hell are you thinking?" she whispered harshly. "It's almost two in the morning!"

He waved her off.

"A sculptor who works with metal," he started, resting his hands on her shoulders. He gently pushed her back so she was sitting on the edge of her desk, a class of attentive students. "A chemist. And a vending machine operator. I know how they're connected." Rick ran off to evidence so quickly he didn't have time to be creeped out at the fact that he was downstairs without anyone except the spirits of the dead.

He put the box of Chloe Whiteman's things onto his desk. He went through her purse, despite all the warning bells going off in his head – never go through a woman's purse. Probably, especially not a dead woman, but he plowed through. Tampons, keys, GPS, two pens, and… there, wallet.

"What are you looking for?" Beckett asked, with a slight hint of humor.

He pulled out the money. The fake money.

"Ah, ha," he called, spinning around on his heel. He handed her two twenty dollar bills. "Take a look at the serial numbers on those bills." She was giving him a strange look but did as he asked. He watched with fascination as her face morphed from utter confusion to the absolute brilliance of clarity.

She looked at him.

"They're the same."

He raised an eyebrow. "These bills are all pre-1998."

"That's before they redesigned the currency," she supplied, standing up, holding the bills loosely in her hand.

He nodded. "That's the punch line. That's how these people are connected. In counterfeiting, the hardest thing to make is the paper. But they had all the paper they needed. They had an unlimited supply of one dollar bills."

He really liked the look on her face. She was radiant with the find, stunning with the relief of the connection. He felt a tingling in his stomach that felt an awful lot like the cliché of butterflies.

"From the vending machines."

"And what about the chemistry teacher?"

"She could whitewash the singles to make blank bank notes."

"And what do counterfeiters do with blank bank notes?"

"Print larger denominations which they need a metal press plate."

"And who better to provide that than a sculptor?"

He was ecstatic. This was better than a high.

They both looked at the board, back to their victims. A smirk danced across Beckett's features like a bride during her first wedding dance with her husband. Rick was still trying to comprehend the feeling: the tingling in his toes, the heat of his belly, the rush of heat and spice and affection coursing through his veins like a little highway of ecstasy.

"So," Beckett offered, tearing him away from his thoughts. "Plates, paper… there's only one missing ingredient."

They both gasped, sending a ripple of sound across the empty bullpen.

"I think I know who the killer is!" They both whirled around to face each other. Beckett was full of glee and he probably looked about the same. Worn down, on a caffeine high, and hyper off the relief of the connection, the punch line, the evidence that brought their mystery together, Rick stared at her. Her eyes were beautiful in the moonlight – mysterious, sexy, daring. Darling.

She looked away, back to the board.

Damn it, Rick thought. Solving mysteries than her was way better than any high. Hell, it was better than sex. Any sex he had in the past. Now, he thought, deciding (unintentionally, that is) to torture himself. _Imagine what sex with her would actually be like_…

He needed to stop this.

Now.


	14. I Was Aiming for His Head

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 13 – "I Was Aiming for His Head"<em>

* * *

><p>Rick had never seen a club during the daytime, even if it was only seven in the morning.<p>

He had been in college once. He had sported a fake ID four years before his twenty-first birthday. In all those years, however, he exited early on, a girl attached to his arm or completely passed out. Being in a Burlesque bar in the middle of the day was creepy. Slight terrifying. Erotic, but not much.

To his left was a large area with tables and chairs and glitter. The stage looked dim and lifeless in the sunlight – at night, he knew, it would light up like a naughty Christmas tree. The bar was out of sight but he could picture the smooth finishing, the slick countertop – slick enough to slide a drink down to an impatient customer.

Beckett stopped, her heels the only echoing sound throughout the building. She cocked her head, her ear towards the bar. Rick shared a look with Ryan and then Esposito. They all heard it: a shuffling, a ruffling of paper and the bang of a cash register. Ding.

Beckett looked back at Rick, nodded to him slightly.

There was a pitter-patter of feet running. Rick thought it sounded like Alexis running across the hardwood when she was going to wake Daddy up on the Sunday morning he got to sleep in. "Get the plates, the plates!" they heard a woman yell across the room, though none of them can see her.

She must be in the back, by the rows of inventory – alcohol, mannequins, costumes, and bags of peanuts.

"That's Kitty," Beckett whispered. "Kitty Cannery."

Ah, one half of this murdering duo. The couple tattoo artists – their ink providers – that killed their friends out of greed.

They walked forward and Rick finally saw her. She was wearing jeans and a tight-fitting blue shirt with a khaki jacket. Her long blond hair was sexy but didn't hold a candle to Beckett's. She was a sharp kind of beautiful – fine lines and perfect makeup. She looked like a model – pretty but with haunting terror.

"Going somewhere?" he could hear the smugness and just a hint of irritation in Beckett's voice. Kitty looked up from the bags of money, startled. "Put your hands up, Kitty." The woman compiled quite nicely, he thought, fingering the gun at his hip. He thought he might actually see some action – he hardly ever did these days. It wasn't like busting a bunch of druggies on the street – they were guaranteed runners.

"What gave me away?" she asked her voice light and calm, despite the situation.

His turn, "The missing ingredient. Ink. And who to provide that than a tattoo artist?"

Kitty rolled her eyes at him, like Kate did, though on her it was a form of mockery, snobby, rather than playfulness, affection. Her eyes were evil – haunting. Kate's were pure – even through the hardness, he could see that sweet center, like his favorite candy.

Ryan walked forward, jogged passed their suspect and picked up a wad of cash. He flipped through, checking the serial numbers. "Yeah, they're fakes," he confirmed, reaching their side. Kate started calling out orders to Kitty, telling her to come forward slowly, starting her rights…

There was a shadow, moving, on the ground.

Rick looked up to a barrel of a gun through the shelves of inventory. Their other accomplice – the husband – had his gun pointed at Kate's head. Rick shouted out and, as the gun fired, he dove forward, crashing into his partner. Ryan and Esposito shouted out as well, moving out of the way. Rick heard the faint shuffling of nervous feet.

But he didn't care who it was. He was too busy feeling Kate Beckett squirm underneath him. He saved her shoulder the brunt of the fall but he had sacrificed both his hands. Kate Beckett was the definition of muscle and tone but she was crushing his fingers. He was in pain but he ignored it. Beckett rolled over, her back pressed up against the cold metal of the ground, releasing his fingers.

He heard Ryan and Esposito run after their shooter but Rick couldn't seem to move. He couldn't breathe. Kate was breathing heavily, her chest heaving, the white of her shirt exposing the milky skin of her chest. Her jacket had opened in the duration of the fall and a precious shoulder was exposed – he could see the ripples of goose bumps on her skin.

Time seemed to slow down. It was like a play – when the lights would go down and a character would step up, delivering a riveting monologue before resuming the story. He almost felt like he was watching her, a strange out-of-body experience. He felt far away but he was right here. So close.

He looked at Kate Beckett's brown eyes, the curve of her cheekbones, and the dryness of her lips from breathing too quickly. He felt her fingers press into his elbows, her grip easing from the fall. Her tongue flicked out her mouth, her eyes latched onto his – a hungry, wild animal – and she licked her lips, leaving them red and wet.

She slid the lower lip through her teeth and Rick was slowly coming undone.

But then she moved. She rolled on her side, pulling herself away from him. He wasn't sure how it happened, but suddenly they were two again, sitting across from each other, giving wary glances. "Thanks," she mumbled. He nodded as she took a deep breath. She ran a hand through the stray hair, falling out of the bun.

She looked back. "Shit," she said, getting to her feet. He followed, not sure why she was suddenly so angry. What were they doing here? He looked around. Oh, yeah. Counterfeiting. Murder.

What an idiot.

"She got away!" Kate cursed. "I'll go around front, you go through the back!"

She took off around back and Rick grabbed his gun, running the tips of his fingers along the trigger.

* * *

><p>Mirrors broke and he was out in the open, feeling the cool air of late October hitting his back.<p>

There – there was the shooter! He was out towards the front of the alley entrance. The door banged loudly behind him and the man turned and faced Rick. Rick pulled his gun up and ready. But a blur stood in front of him. "Beckett, get down!" he called out, seeing their suspect start to run towards the road, the bag of counterfeit bills in his hand.

Beckett seemed to startle into a response. She pulled up her own gun, pointing it straight at him. What was she doing? He didn't have time to think, time to feel. He took a deep breath. Before he fired, their eyes met from across the short distance. He felt like he was a prince, off in a ship, away to war and away from the princess. So close yet so freaking far away.

The guns fired.

There was a collective yelp and Rick felt nothing. He didn't feel the sharp sting of the bullet, the wet warmth of seeping blood. He turned around and he saw Kitty writing in pain on the ground, clutching her shoulder in agony. He looked back just as Kate did. He grinned, and gave her a thumps up.

She chuckled, relief shining in her eyes.

"Hell of a shot, Castle," she told him.

He laughed and jokingly replied, "I was aiming for his head."

And he was rewarded with one of those affectionate eye-rolls he had grown addicted to.

* * *

><p>"They hatched the plan late one night at the club," Beckett filled in the captain as they walked slowly to their desks. Captain Montgomery nodded and she continued. "They figured victimless crime, nobody would get hurt."<p>

"Sounded like a sweet deal," Montgomery offered. "What went wrong?"

Rick said, "Todd McCutchin. He was getting squeezed by a loan shark – figured he'd try to make a payment with counterfeit bills."

"The shark threatened to rat him out if he turned over the operation…" Beckett finished the rest of the story and how all of their victims came to be victims. Rick smiled and glanced down at their walking feet, mesmerized by the way they were walking in-step with each other. It seemed that they were all in-step – they were finishing sentences, figuring out murders… they were trading jokes, smiles, wit, and this honesty.

Rick had never felt with anyone else. He didn't know what to do with this relationship.

He thought maybe it was because she was a woman as well as his partner. With men it was always competition – sure, they cared for one another, respected one another, but there was this constant drive to one-up the other in combat. To outshine the partner – to get all the glory.

But with Kate Beckett, it wasn't like that at all.

He thought maybe it was because she was not a man – far from it. But then again, he thought maybe it was just her. Her smile and her laugh, how she would tease him but mean it in a friendly, non-threatening way. She could act like one of the guys and run like the guys and sound like the guys but in the end, she was not a guy.

She was beautiful. A mystery he was never going to solve.

"Nice work, Detectives. Very impressive." Captain Montgomery concluded, clapping Rick on the back. Beckett looked back and smiled at their captain as she leaned over pluck the last picture off of the white board and into the evidence box which was off to storage. Chloe Whitman, smiling back at them in a frozen time, disappeared into the dark depths of files.

Esposito and Ryan were sitting on Rick's desk, facing the board, but commenting on something, laughing, and pushing at each other. "So, captain," Esposito said, leaning over to look at their captain. "What do you say… a little TLC for your best detectives?"

Montgomery lowered his eyes and his lips fell from a smile into a frown. A very long, awkward second passed and then their captain started laughing. "Yes, yes, you all can have the night off." He waltzed away, laughing at the "ridiculous look on their faces." He turned back, gave them all a square-jawed look and warned, "But I expect all of you on-call tomorrow. It's a Saturday but murderers don't care."

The quartet all looked at each other, and then nodded.

After the captain disappeared into the office, Esposito gathered the group up. "Okay, guys, so," he said. "This'll be the first time Castle here has had a night off with the rest of us." He rested a hand on Rick's shoulder, giving him a smirk of brotherly affection. "I think we should go out tonight."

Ryan was nodding and Rick was about to respond when Beckett laughed. The trio turned a confused eye to their female companion. She gave them a grin and then shrugged. "What?" she said. "I don't think I'm gonna make it tonight, fellas. There's a book, a bath, and a bottle of wine calling my name."

Rick raised an eyebrow.

"One of my books?" he asked with a smirk.

She glared at him.

"Come on, Beckett," Esposito whined. "You can drink wine at the bar. Loosen up a bit. Lanie's told me how well you can drink and I'm just waiting to see for myself, girl." Beckett's glare shifted from Rick to Esposito. She gave him a look that asked him what the hell he was talking about and he rose in hands in defense. "Hey, Lanie offered. I didn't ask."

She blew her hair up in frustration and bent over to gather the box for storage. "I wasn't aware that you and Dr. Parish met outside of work, Esposito."

Esposito rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Well… um…"

Beckett rolled her eyes. She brushed by him and bumped his thigh with her hip. "If I finish all my paperwork, I'll be there. Are we going to the usual place?"

Esposito's eyes crinkled as he gave Beckett a big grin. He shoved her shoulder affectionately as she walked away and she shot him a grin over his shoulder. "You in, bro?" he asked Rick. "We go to this old pub Ryan found. Called the Old Haunt."

The Old Haunt? Rick was familiar with the place. Very, very familiar.

He turned to his friend and said, "I have the chance to watch Beckett drink? How could I pass that up?" He grinned, watching her retreating form – the sway of her hips, the glide of her feet, the confidence in her shoulders. "I wouldn't miss it."


	15. I Don't Need to Drink To Take Him

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 14 – "I Don't Need to Drink to Take Him"<em>

* * *

><p>When his mother found him, Rick was staring at himself helplessly into the mirror. He held up two ties – one a deep red and the other a bright blue. Contemplating, he didn't notice her until she rested her palms gently on his shoulders. He gave her a struggling smile and she grinned.<p>

"My son, nervous for a date?" she figured, selecting the deep red colored tie. "This is the one, dear."

"I'm not nervous," he clarified. "I'm… I just want to look nice."

She gave him an all-knowing grin. "Aren't you taking your team to the Haunt? Why would you need to be dressed up to go to that, then, Richard? Or is this a date? Perhaps with that Beckett girl of yours?"

He rolled his eyes and let her wrap the tie around his neck, fix it up perfectly. So many years of practice. "I'm not going on a date with Beckett, Mother. She's my partner for Christ's sake." His mother hummed, finished the knot and patted it. She brushed her hands down the sleeves of his collared shirt. Rick rolled his neck, let it pop.

"You should kiss that girl while you're both still young."

Rick changed the subject, "Speaking of young… where's Alexis?"

His mother turned briskly on her heel and walked out into the living room. Rick followed and he saw a long red ponytail poking out from the top of the deep leather couch. "She's reading," his mother said proudly. "It's a Boxcar Children novel. _The_… _Singing Ghost_, I believe?"

Rick shook his head. His girl was way too smart. Reading books like that at five. Well, mostly—she still needed some help. Her birthday was not until February and it was only the end of October. But his (minor) concern for his daughter's advanced knowledge was muted by his delight that she was reading the Boxcar Children books – a classic children's mystery series. Ones he had read since he was a child.

"Alexis, come say goodbye to your father," his mother called. "We need to leave… the car arrived five minutes ago."

The red ponytail disappeared only to be replaced with a skipping little girl. "Daddy," she squealed, running forward with only her book, her backpack and suitcase left abandoned on the side of the couch. He gripped his daughter under her armpits and swung her onto his hip. "Daddy, I don't know this word. Help."

She pointed to the word 'gruffly.' Rick smiled and kissed her temple. "That is gruffly," he explained as his mother watched with adoring eyes. "It means like this." He cleared his throat and gruffly said, "Hello, my name is Rick Rodgers, Alexis's father." Alexis giggled, covering his mouth with her hand.

"Thanks, Daddy," she smiled.

"Do you need help with any of the other words, pumpkin?"

Alexis shook her head.

"You know all of them?" he looked at the pages with surprise. This book might be written for children but even this had to be too difficult for any child this age. He immediately thought maybe Alexis was a genius (which she was) and all the social problems that she would endure…

"I just read the pages with pictures, Daddy," she confessed, biting her lip, like she had just pulled a marvelous prank. "I can't read that good yet! You just started to teach me."

Rick cackled and squeezed his daughter tight. "Touché," he said, letting her down so she could get her things.

"What does… tushie mean?"

Rick laughed again, and his nerves disappeared.

* * *

><p>The tingling of nerves, the headache of anxiety and the pressure to be a gracious host only returned when he reached the Twelfth. Everyone had parted around three that afternoon, taking the afternoon off to shower, dress, and rest before their night. If Montgomery was giving them the night off, they were going to enjoy it.<p>

They were meeting outside the station and it seemed like Rick was the first one. He checked his watch and read, '6:42', just a little over fifteen minutes until their estimated meeting time. He wasn't normally the earliest one but after his mother and Alexis had left, he didn't have anything to do but twiddle his thumbs and think about their evening.

Rick didn't know what was wrong with him. He had this overwhelming need to impress his friends – especially since they had willingly chosen to go to his bar without even knowing. He bought the place just after he published his first novel. He wrote most of it there, bunkered away in a corner drinking and writing until the wee hours of the morning. When he found out that they were about to sell because of the horrid economy, Rick had bought it without a second thought. A couple of revisions later, and an accompanying menu with the traditional alcoholic beverages offered, business picked up quickly. Now, it was doing better than ever.

He didn't spend much time there anymore but it was obviously a favorite amongst his detective friends. He had never seen them in there before – then again, he usually only went there to get drunk and write until his publisher was satisfied – that, and to pick up women.

But he hadn't been there in months – since his new job. He wanted to blame it on the hours: when he was not working, he was at home with his daughter, being a wonderful and perfect single father. But that was a lie. He didn't go because he was distracted by his partner. Distracted by her hair, her smile, her laugh…

This was so wrong.

They were _partners_.

This would be worse than his wife sleeping with his partner. This was worse than the media finding out about his identity. This was worse because he couldn't do anything about it. He could leave his wife. He could have Paula scream at a few people. But he couldn't just leave Kate – nor could he scream at her for that matter.

He didn't know what it was about her that made him so… addicted. Was that the right word?

"Hey," a voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned his head sharply and Kate Beckett waltzed up to him. Her hands were tucked safely inside her bright blue pea coat. Her long hair was free, swirling and curling from the wind and nature. She had put on more makeup, giving her an alluring evening look. She looked ravishing.

He licked his lips.

"Hey," he said.

"Did Alexis and your mother make it down to the Hamptons?" she asked, her head bowed to her shoes. She scuffed the sidewalk, something he had never seen her do before.

"Uh," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. The cold shot up his arm and he immediately stuffed his hand deep into his jacket pocket. "No, not quite. Mother is going to call me when they reach the house."

She hummed and looked out to the street. She stomped her foot onto the ground, a resounding 'click' echoing off of the alleyway next to the building. She seemed nervous but he didn't know why. He could never read this woman even though he could read just about everyone. It's what made him a good writer – and an even better cop.

"So, I found out something interesting today," she offered, glancing at him.

He cocked his head to the side, distracted and thinking wildly inappropriate things. What he could do to her. How he could gently unhook every button her bright blue pea coat and throw it aside. How he could touch her and love her and how he should not do it. He could not do this.

"What's that?"

She smirked, "A little birdie told me that the Old Haunt is owned by the one and only Richard Castle." She turned to him face-on.

His face fell. "Who's this birdie?"

"That's not the point." Her smirk didn't fade. She didn't appear angry. He was afraid that she would think he was cocky and flaunting his money. But that didn't seem to be the case. Normally his author-stuff annoyed her. But not tonight. What was so different about tonight?

"It was my mother, wasn't it?" he said.

She laughed once and slapped him on the shoulder. When she swung her arm away, he caught her forearm. She stopped laughing and he could feel her pulse under his fingertips. It was going wild… or maybe he just thought that because his was pounding so hard he could hear it.

Her eyes were wide and locked onto his. He was falling into the murky waters of her pupils. He was drowning and he didn't seem to care. He imagined that was what it was like – drowning. He wanted to fight, fight for his life, his sanity, his control, but then he would just give up and fall to the bottom.

He was losing his control, his sanity, and his life.

There was a loud honk and Rick released Kate's arm. It dangled down to her side but her eyes never left his. "Yo!" Esposito's voice rang out. "You guys ready? You're taking Beckett's car, right!"

He broke off his gaze before Kate did. "Yeah!" he said to Esposito. Ryan and Jenny were in the backseat and Lanie was waving from the passenger seat. They drove off after saying they would meet them there and get a good table. Rick forgot to tell them that he already had it covered.

"Ready?" Kate asked her voice stiff.

He nodded and took a deep breath.

This was going to be a long car ride.

* * *

><p><em>The Old Haunt<em> was crowded but Rick had called in the early afternoon to make sure they had room for his group. They had a reserved table in the back room with their own personal bartender and a poker table, already stocked and ready to go.

Esposito and Ryan with their respective dates were hanging around outside the building chatting and laughing when Rick and Kate finally rolled up. The tension in the car was high and they had managed to hit every stoplight on the way – Rick had never seen Beckett physically violent while driving but she had slammed the palms of her hands hard enough on the last few stoplights to have Rick wincing.

He took a deep breath when he left the car. New York didn't have the pleasantest of fresh air but it was better than smell of Beckett's car – day-old fast food, gym clothes, and suffocating sexual tension.

He clapped Ryan and Esposito on the shoulder when they approached the two. Beckett immediately went to Lanie's side. She whispered in her friend's ear when Jenny was looking at the boys and the alarming look on Lanie's face had Rick worried – had he just ruined the night with his little stunt back at the Precinct?

Esposito announced his hunger and the gang bumbled inside, Rick at the head. The waitress – Jessie R. read her nametag – led them to their private room and, while everyone (minus Beckett) was gaping, he explained his ownership of the bar and some of the perks with being the boss.

After the initial shock, Ryan offered, "I should have known. Irony at its finest."

Rick chuckled and led them to the poker table. A different waitress – Sadie, Rick's favorite – waltzed in with glasses of water balanced on a tray. She set a glass down in front of them, standing just behind Rick. "Mr. Castle," she greeted, giving him an award-winning smile; Sadie was a country girl that moved to the big city right out of high school, looking for more than her small-town in Alabama had to offer. He hired her on the spot – she had an adorable accent, cute face, and a bubbly personality. She was the favorite amongst the regular customers.

"Just Rick, Sadie, like I always tell you."

He smiled at her charmingly and noticed Beckett giving him a death-glare across the table. He smirked and thought that maybe she was jealous. He liked when Beckett was feisty and pissed at him – he think he liked it even more when he was jealous. Sadie's laugh brought him out of his less-than-honorable thoughts.

"What can I get for y'all?"

Rick ordered his usual, the boys both wanted a beer on tap, Jenny ordered an apple martini, Lanie had a Manhattan, and Beckett gave Sadie a vindictive look before ordering a Vodka martini.

Rick raised an eyebrow at her once Sadie walked away. She pursed her lips, and gave him a little look that Rick couldn't decide as challenging or playful. Lanie noticed the exchange between them and, after an awkward, silent pause, said, "So, what do we do now, Rick?" He looked at her and watched as her eyes shifted down to the poker table, telling him silently to start a game. Something. Anything. Fix this, Rick.

Rick looked around the table. Maybe he could still salvage this night.

"Want to play a game?" he offered the group.

Jenny smiled and said, "I'm no good at poker. I'm afraid you'll clean me out."

Rick chuckled. "No worries. We don't have to play for money."

"Oh, really?" came Beckett with her poisonous voice. "And what will we play for?"

He gave her a look. "Pride…" He openly checked her out: the low-cut blouse, her red bra strap. "…Or clothing."

She rolled her eyes.

Lanie said, "Don't get in a drinking challenge with her. She can take you."

He looked at her and grinned. "Thank you."

"Oh, I don't need to drink to take him."

Eyes back to her, Rick. Focus. "Let's make it interesting, then. What about drinks? A chip is a shot?" She laughed out loud and Rick noticed that everyone else around the table had gone silent, hardly breathing. He didn't really care. He was too caught up in this game he was playing. A dangerous, sexy, thrilling game. When she didn't answer, he said, "What… aren't up to a challenge? Or are you chicken?"

She cocked her head, bit her lip seductively.

"Danger is my middle name."

He could only imagine.


	16. Being a Witness is Really Hard

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 15 – "Being a Witness is Really Hard"<em>

* * *

><p>He woke up to the smell of cherries.<p>

Richard Rodgers blinked heavily and shifted, trying to see in the blackness. A pounding like a bass of a pop song wracked his head. He scrunched up his nose, willing the pain to stop. He had never had a hangover this bad before. He had always been a strong drinker. At least, he had never drunk so much that he didn't remember anything the next day. Or night? What time _was_ it?

That was when he felt silky hair against his bare chest. He looked down to see a face, usually so stern, completely serene in sleep. The curve of her lip, pouting slightly was adorable. Her eyeliner was smudged at the corner of her eyes. Her straight nose sprinkled with the lightest of freckles he hadn't noticed because he had never been this close to her before. It was Detective Beckett. How had he gotten in bed with Detective Beckett?

What the _hell_ happened last night?

That was when he felt _her_ naked body pressed up against _his_ naked body.

His eyes widened.

Rick took a deep breath and willed his heart to calm down. He had always had a knack with words and he tried everything he could to come up with a scenario where Kate ended up in bed with him for any other reason other than sex. There was no way he had sex with Kate Beckett. What was she going to do when she woke up? Oh, God. She was going to kill him. The least she was going to do was castrate him.

Why the _hell_ couldn't he remember anything?

Had he really gotten so drunk that he couldn't remember anything?

Kate stirred in her sleep. His arm that was nestled around her back stiffened. He stopped breathing, his eyes impossibly wide in the darkness. She smacked her lips together before returning to sleep, snuggling closer to him. Oh, God, he could feel her breasts up against his side. Now, how was he supposed to go back to sleep?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to go back to sleep.

Just thirty seconds later, he huffed and opened his eyes. That was when he noticed that this bed was not familiar. This wasn't his top-of-the-line comfort, king-sized bed from his loft a few blocks from the Precinct. No, this felt smaller but comfortable complete with silky sheets and fluffy pillows. God, where was the blanket, feeling a draft coming in some direction.

Richard Rodgers lay awake for what felt like a good two hours. He couldn't see a clock anywhere in the darkness so he had no idea what the time was. He tried to come up with a plan to escape. But he couldn't leave – he had no idea where his clothes were, he had no idea where he was, and he didn't know if he should leave Beckett alone.

What if she didn't remember anything? He knew her well enough that she would think the worst. He already knew about her mother's murder – what if she thought she had been raped? Her life was tragic enough. He didn't want her to think that something awful had happened last night.

Well, something more awful than what already had.

God, what happened?

He rubbed his free hand down his face.

Yawning, he felt exhaustion take its course over him. He didn't want to go back to sleep because he didn't want to be asleep when she woke up. She was going to be so pissed. He had no idea what to tell her because he couldn't remember anything about the night before.

_"Oh, I don't need to drink him."_

"_Let's make it interesting, then_."

* * *

><p>The shrill sound of ringing woke him up a second time.<p>

Just a split second later, a deeper tone of a similar ringer went off. He felt Kate shift beside. Who the hell was calling? He felt her sit up, the blanket falling to reveal her bare chest. She looked disheveled. Her long hair that was usually put in a bun was loose and falling every which way. She ran a hand through her hair, taking in her surroundings. All the while, Rick lay there, not moving, staring at her, bile resting nicely in his throat.

It felt like minutes but in reality only a few seconds when she finally looked at him – his bedhead, his lipstick covered cheeks, his bare chest. She then looked down at herself. Then, her eyes widened. "Oh, my God!" she yelled grabbing a sheet, pulling it up around herself, blocking his view of her naked body.

He sat up as she scrambled off the bed, taking the only thing that was covering him. "Oh, my God!" she shrieked again. "Put it away, put it away!" she whirled around so her bare back was facing him. He fell off the bed, searching desperately for at least his boxers. She dropped to the floor as well, trying to find her own clothes. He finally found them and he pressed his back up against the carpet, tugging them up faster than they were disposed of the night before.

He swallowed and peered over the top of the bed.

"Beckett?" he asked when he didn't see her.

He felt his ear being tugged. He shrieked as he was sharply turned around by his ear. Kate was standing in front of him, her clothes hastily put on. He could see her red bra peeking from her mismatched buttons on her white top. Her shoulders tensed and she squeezed his ear. "Castle!" she screamed. "What the hell are you doing? What are you doing here? Why are you naked!" Her eyes were wide with confusion, anger, and also … fear?

He had never seen Detective Katherine Beckett so much as bat an eyelash in front of a serial killer. Men with knives, guns, hell, _bombs_ did not faze her. However, now, in front of him, after a night neither of them could remember, she looked like she was going to throw up all over him. He didn't know what to say to make her feel better. Hell, he didn't know what to say _period_. These relationships were only accepted on television. In real life, one of them would at least be transferred. At the worst, they could both lose their badges if anyone found out.

"I – I … um," he looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. They weren't in his apartment, like he expected. It was too girly – too clean. It looked like … was he her bedroom? "Uh, I don't know. Beckett, you have to believe me. I have no idea what's going on."

She shook her head and then let go of his ear.

The ringing filled up the quiet room again. They both jumped, each reaching for their respective phones.

"Beckett," Kate said harshly into the receiver.

"Rodgers," Rick said a second after.

"Yo, bro," came the sound of Javier Esposito's voice in Rick's ear. "I've called you, like, four times. Why aren't you answering?" Rick sputtered for a total of ten seconds before Esposito replied, "Whatever. Look, we have a body at 110th and 2nd Avenue. You need to get here before Detective Beckett does. If you're not here picking through garbage cans with me by the time she gets here, she'll have your head."

He glanced up at the woman in question as she paced the room, most likely getting similar information.

"That's not all she'll have," he replied, terrified for his life, before hanging up.

* * *

><p>Rick was sitting in her living room, breathing, trying to remember, when she finally walked out of the bedroom. She was clean, her hair still damp from her shower, hairdryer; her clothes covered every inch of her body: black turtleneck, black dress pants, black heels; makeup was minimal but enough to cover any residue of a… long night awake.<p>

Er, maybe.

Rick had managed to find all of his clothes – except his undershirt – and was sitting with an open-collar, too hot to have it button all the way. He felt like maybe he should be all buttoned but he couldn't find any reason to seriously care. She had seen everything, hadn't she?

Hadn't she?

"Why are you still here?"

Rick winced at the sound of her voice: clipped, annoyed, distant. When he finally started to make ground – what with revealing himself as a favorite author of hers, telling him about her mother's murder, introducing her to Alexis. Finally, she gave him real, wholesome smiles. But he now he was back at square one… square zero.

Could he be at a negative square number?

"I looked out front," he replied. "You drove us here. I have no way to get home."

"You couldn't have called anyone?" she snapped.

He shrugged, focused at his linked fingers because couldn't stand the look in her eyes. "It died right after Esposito called. You don't have a house phone – I looked."

She huffed and rolled her eyes. Storming off, he took her jingling keys and open door as an invitation to join her. Walking out of her apartment, he looked down the hall – white walls, wooden panels, landscape art – and couldn't remember ever going back up them.

They didn't bother waiting for the elevator, though Rick saw that they were on the seventh floor. She slammed open the stairs to the door and took them down, two and a time (he wasn't sure how) and they were out of the building in less than thirty seconds.

Out of breath, he sat quietly in her car. No music played. The heater remained off. The windows blocked out almost ever sound of New York traffic. He couldn't even hear her breathing. The ride was deafening. When she pulled up to the side of his building, he all but fell out of the car and then barely made it to the sidewalk before she skidded away without even a goodbye.

Rick took a deep breath and stared after her.

God, what happened?

What happened the night before?

He walked solemnly back to his apartment. He greeted the doorman with a nod and a grimace he tried to pass as a smile, and then into the building. Everything was too bright – so bright – and he finally felt the effects of the hangover. God, what the hell did he do last night? He felt like he might have sucked down a whole bottle of Ever-Clear in one go.

His elevator ride up had him paired with an elderly woman – Mrs. Jones – who was coming back from the grocery store. She lived on a floor below him but had lived here since before Rick had and was the first woman to introduce herself to a "neighbor" – come to think of it, she was the only "neighbor" he had met at all.

She made small talk on the way up and Rick tried very hard to respond with appropriate answers but his words wouldn't form correctly. Finally, after yet another glassy-eyed look, Mrs. Jones laughed, "Mr. Castle, you must have gotten plastered last night to look like that."

That focused his attention. He looked at her, mystified (horrified) that she just used "plastered" in context to getting completely intoxicated. He coughed and replied, "Yeah. Kind of."

She nodded and the elevator dinged open, indicating they were at her floor. "I will make you some tea, Mr. Castle, and bring it up in ten minutes." Rick tried to protest but Mrs. Jones had already hobbled out before he had a chance.

He stumbled, trying to open the door, and shuffled inside. He was expecting his mother to be giving him _that look_ or his daughter running up to him, but neither greeted him. Oh, right, he remembered: they were on a mini-vacation in the Hamptons, girl time.

He wished he could have gone to girl-time.

He shook his head, not even bothering to scold himself over that thought, and shut the door quietly behind him. He went to his bedroom, ripping off his clothes on the way. They scattered across his office and he was pulling off his socks when the house phone rang. Oh, God, what a horrid sound. He leaned down, balancing himself on the doorframe in between the office and the bedroom, and he snatched the phone off the side table beside a recliner.

"Rodgers," he gruffly said.

"Dude," Ryan's voice reflected nerves. "Beckett is here. Where are you? After last night, I would get my ass down here if I were you."

After last night…?

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh, looks like I win again. Everyone-" <em>

_Kate pointed her index finger, twirled it in a circle, rounding up the group. "Drink up." Rick winced at looked down at his shot. Another one? God, he couldn't remember how many he had. Everyone exhaled, making strange sounds in the back of their throats, and Rick was still looking. "What's the matter, Rick?" Her voice was confident with the win, excited and buzzed with the alcohol. "You _chicken_?"_

_Her smirk was enough to have him tilting his head back, the shot making its burning journey down his throat._

* * *

><p>Rick blinked.<p>

"Yeah, okay, okay," he said. "I've got to shower. Throw up, probably. Hell of a hangover."

He could practically hear Ryan rolling his eyes. "Dude, how much did you and Beckett drink last night?" He paused and Rick didn't answer. "Look, the rest of us left after Beckett cleaned us out the third time. Jenny had to work early today and Lanie and Esposito were getting handsy." Another pause. "Don't you remember?"

"Being a witness is really hard."

Ryan hung up after a strained chuckle. Rick felt like standing up would take too much work so he crawled, naked, to his bathroom. He sat in the shower, shivering with his bare skin up against the cold tile, and turned it on hot and the highest spray. He stayed in there for a good twenty minutes before finally lathering himself up with soap. Afterwards, he finished his morning routine, even though it was… already 10 AM.

Shit, he seriously needed to get to work.

He was pulling on his last shoe when the doorbell rang. Mrs. Jones, he thought, and jogged to the front, grabbing his keys, holster, and badge as he did so. He swung the door open and was clipped his badge on his belt when he looked up, seeing Mrs. Jones with a travel mug.

"Figured you were heading to work," she said sweetly, handing him the tea.

"Thanks, Mrs. Jones," he replied, leaning down, kissed her on the cheek.

* * *

><p><em>He knew that Kate shouldn't be driving but he knew that he definitely shouldn't be. He was far drunker than she was – he had taken too many shots, she hadn't taken enough – and, anyway, this gave him a better vantage point.<em>

_He wasn't wearing a seatbelt so he rubbed his hand on her shoulder, leaning in to bite her ear, lick the pain away. Kate was laughing, gasping with pleasure, and he saw that the hands on the steering wheel were white from her grip. He kissed her jaw and neck slowly, trailing it with his hot tongue._

_God, she tasted good._

_"Rick," she moaned. She braked too quickly and he was jerked away from her with a smack of his lips on her skin. She looked at him, her chest heaving with too-quick breathes, a dark look in her dilated pupils. "Damn traffic lights," she offered and he laughed, leaning in, kissing her on her sweet mouth._

* * *

><p>His lips were dry when he leaned away from the elderly woman.<p>

He coughed again, uncomfortable, and took the travel mug from her. "When can I…?" he nodded to the cup,

She grinned. "Oh, anytime, dear. Your mother could bring it by next week if she decides to come to Bridge club. I know quite a few fans that want to meet her." She winked and waltzed off, heading to the stairs instead of the elevator. He wondered, as he locked the door behind him, what he would be like when he was her age. He hoped that he was still spewing out modern language and taking the stairs.

The elevator took too long to finally reach his floor and the ride down was miserable because some brat – probably that damn Garcia kid from the tenth floor – had pushed all the buttons. He exited on the third floor, fed up, and took the stairs the rest of the way down.

A car was waiting for him outside – he was suffering a hangover, possibly still a little drunk, and he should not be driving. He got inside and didn't recognize the driver so he didn't bother to say anything. Halfway to the crime scene he realized he had forgotten to hook up his phone to charge it. No phone. Fantastic.

* * *

><p><em>The door slammed behind him and Kate broke away, putting her index finger over his lips, shushing him and laughing. He grinned at her and licked her blocking finger.<em>

_"Bedroom, Rick," she said, and wrapped her arms around his neck, hoisting herself and placing her legs around his waist. She kissed his cheek and whispered the directions to her bedroom into his ear. He took a wrong turn, bumped up against the couch and the fell over the back, laughing._

_He managed to straddle her and she let him. She rested her hands on his hips under his shirt. Her delicate fingers were softer than he expected and she ran them up and down his sides; the warmth in his belly turned fiery hot. He looked at her. Her hair was falling everywhere, a cascade of brunette locks, like a princess; eyes, sometimes like caramel, sometimes like chocolate, and other times like lush summer trees; a body like an angel, fit, firm, but curvy all at the same time._

_"You're so beautiful," he told her._

_She blinked slowly and when she opened her yes, her eyes were dark – blacker than any starless night._

_"Show me," was all she said._

* * *

><p>Beckett was all business at the scene.<p>

Rick wondered how drunk he was and how not-drunk she had been the night before. While he had been bumping, she had been fairly coherent – giving him directions, telling him what to do, and giggling but not so much that it was unbelievable.

Here, however, she was no longer that woman he knew last night. Everyone – Lanie included – looked a little rumpled and tired from the late night. Beckett looked better than ever – she didn't look normal but beyond normal. Just how much did she remember of the night before?

He had more of it coming in snippets. Everyone leaving… the three or four more games they played (he won all of them, actually)… leaving… kissing her in the car… bumbling into her apartment building… making out in the elevator, down the hall, into her apartment. And then…

"Took you long enough," Beckett sighed when he finally reached the scene. "I was just about to have CSU sweep the scene, clean everything up. You would have missed the body."

He hated missing the body.

She knew that.

What the hell was wrong with him today? _With her_?

"Stacey Collins," Beckett told him. He looked at their victim – a woman in her late forties, early fifties that seemed to have been pushed down and impaled with a metal rail that was guarding trashcans. She had a stream of blood leaving her mouth, her unseeing eyes staring up to the sun. "Forty-five. She's a high-end matchmaker."

No emotion, no depth. Nothing.

Is this where they were, now?


	17. We Have a Really Hard Job

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 16 – "We Have a Really Hard Job"<em>

* * *

><p>Rick praised God when he found his spare phone charger at the bottom of his desk drawer. Beckett was in the bathroom and the guys were bringing in party guests of Stacey Collins so he allowed himself a grin and a small victory dance: he shook his butt on his desk chair and pumped his arms a couple of times. When he had his phone charger plugged in to the outlet on the floor beneath his desk, he set his phone down gingerly and then sat back.<p>

He was met with the curious look of Kate Beckett. Her lips were pursed, her eyes held something like annoyance but it was beyond that – she was holding back. Holding back everything.

He didn't even have the capability to process the feeling of embarrassment.

* * *

><p><em>For some reason, he was thinking of <em>Titanic_; specifically, the scene where Rose is lying naked on the couch, posing for Jack as he sketches her. Rick always wondered what it would feel like to watch a woman that way – with permission, trust, and love shining out of her eyes._

_Kate was staring at him and he was staring back._

_He thought back to that scene and wondered if this was it – if this was that scene. _

_She was covered from the waist down and her arms were tucked beneath her chin, blocking out her breasts from his view. That was okay, he thought, they had already gone at it… three times? He wasn't sure if his body could take another round. _

_She was smiling at him, sleepy, and she reached out one hand to stroke down his cheek. He was privileged to see her and he felt it again… maybe round four _was_ possible. _

_The look in her eye told him not tonight – tonight was enough. _

_It was enough, he thought. _

_Enough for him. _

_Her hand was light, feathering across his cheekbones, over his nose; she traced his eyebrows and then his lips. He caught her wrist and left a kiss on her ring finger. He had never done that with a woman before. He had slept with plenty (possible, that's why he was a dad so early in life) but he never felt like _this_ before._

_Not even with Meredith, his wife._

_Not even with Kyra, the college sweetheart – the one that got away._

_Not even with that girl (what was her name?) that took away his virginity at sixteen in the back of her car. _

_"Thank you," she whispered her voice rough from a combination of screaming, laughing, drinking, and exhaustion. He couldn't imagine listening to another woman in bed like this. He felt like this was forever; he didn't even know what he was thinking. He was drunk and tired. But he didn't want to fall asleep and miss this._

_Thank you? He processed it._

_"For what?"_

_Through the darkness, he saw Kate blink slowly, a smile gracing her lips, puffing out her cheeks, flaring the nostrils of her nose, lifting her exposed ear. "I… don't know," she admitted slowly. She paused, licked her lips and before he could stop himself, he leaned over and kissed her._

_She tried to tell him things in the kiss – but it felt like she was speaking another language._

_"We have a really hard job," she whispered, holding his cheeks with both hands. She caught his eye, stared at him for a long moment. "Having you around makes a little more… fun."_

* * *

><p>Rick blinked as the new memory came to him.<p>

"Castle," Beckett's voice brought him back. "Are you ready to interview the couples from the party?" She paused, licked her lips, and Rick thought about the conversation the night before – he could hardly believe that his was the same woman he had made love to. "I know you had a late night last night, but, come on, snap out of it."

He blinked again, stunned. Did she really just say that? She gave him a twitch of her mouth; Rick knew it was for him because no one else would be able to see such a movement.

Only him.

So, where did were they now?

* * *

><p>"Wow, why does it seem like all of our witnesses are unhelpful?" Rick commented dryly when they exited the conference room, after interviewing the final couple present at Stacey Collins' party.<p>

"If you talk to enough people, something usually shakes out," Beckett replied in passing, handing off a file to a Uniform, catching up with Esposito at her desk. "Espo," she called out. "You got something for me?" Esposito nodded and opened his mouth to speak.

Beckett tripped on a cord by Rick's desk and he ran into the back of her. He grabbed her shoulders gently to steady himself and make sure that she didn't fall to the ground.

She gasped loudly upon contact.

* * *

><p><em>She gasped loudly.<em>

_Rick rolled over on the floor, feeling the cool wood press into his back. He took in a deep breath and looked over his shoulder to Kate. She was staring up at the ceiling, breathing rapidly and loudly. Rick watched the rise and fall of her chest; watched her wet lips slowly dry and crack from the amount of air she was taking in; watched her dazed eyes flick back and forth between the exposed wooden acoustics and the small window above her built-in stairway that led nowhere._

_He blinked and when his eyes opened, she was looking at him. She smiled at him and he went to say something but was cut off by her giggling._

_Never, had Rick thought he would see the day to see Kate Beckett giggling._

_He couldn't help it – he laughed. Strong and loud, his laugh boomed throughout the apartment. He turned his head back and felt his chest tighten and release from the pressure of his laughter and the uncomfortable position on the floor. He felt a hand on his chest and he looked up at her._

_She crawled on top of him, smiling. _

_Heat flared and he couldn't help himself. He took her hips and squeezed. She blinked slowly and leaned down on top of him. She rested her head on his chest and placed a hot kiss on his skin. _

_After a moment, he couldn't take it._

_He lifted himself up and she moved off of him slowly. They faced each other: she was sitting with her knees resting under her chin, in between his spread out legs. He placed on hand on her back and brushed down her side, feeling goose bumps rise from her skin. _

_"I want you," he told her. _

_She met his eyes._

_"Take me."_

* * *

><p>Rick squeezed Kate's shoulder involuntarily. These memories came at the most inappropriate times, he figured, and he promised himself he would never get that drunk ever again. It made him forget – but it also made him inappropriately honest and that wasn't good for anyone.<p>

"Castle!" she shrieked. "Why the hell would you leave your damn cell phone cord out in the middle of nowhere?" She kicked the cord under his desk and shrugged off his hands. She turned around, her hair flying over her shoulder. He smelled her cherry-scented shampoo.

"Sorry," he said, flustered. He leaned over and took the cord, looking down at her booted heel. He grabbed his cell phone from the top of his desk and tossed the cord under his desk, vowing to get it later and stood back up. His eyes went to Esposito – his eyes were curious, his mouth twisted into a confused frown.

Rick coughed. "Sorry, Esposito, what do you have for us?"

"Oh…kay," Esposito said suspiciously. "Anyway, we asked-"

Rick's cell phone rang loudly in his hand. He widened eyes – _how could this day go any worse_ – and he looked down. His mother's face was smiling at him. _Must be Alexis_, he thought and looked back up at the two detectives in front of him. Esposito now just looked pissed; Beckett had a look of acceptance.

Acceptance of what? He wondered.

Acceptance that this day was going to be the worst form of awkward ever?

He flipped his cell phone open, not bothering with apologizing, and walked away from them. He couldn't concentrate on the damn murder anyway. "Hello," he said.

"Daddy!" his daughter's voice called.

"Hey, sweetie," he felt the tension leave his body. He briskly walked to the conference room, wanting more privacy than the break room had to offer. "How are you, Alexis? I miss you so much."

She giggled. "How do you miss me already, Daddy? I just left yesterday!"

Was that all? Had she really just left yesterday? It seemed like a lifetime ago that his daughter – with her ponytail and backpack and Boxcar Children book – had walked out of his apartment to go to Hamptons. "I know, baby," he replied quietly, sitting down on the couch their witnesses had just sat on moment ago. "When you are a mommy, you'll understand. Daddies and mommies miss their babies when they're not with them."

"I'm not a baby! I'm five years old now."

"Their very big girls then. They miss their very big girls when they are gone."

She giggled again and Rick could just imagine the sunlight on her face, her cute pink swimsuit, sparkling from the sun, the red on her cheeks – the beginnings of a sunburn, because no matter how much sunscreen she put on, she always brought one home. "Daddy, guess what? I went swimming with Grams!"

"Grams went swimming? No way."

She hummed across the phone. "Then we had pizza from dinner. We ordered it from…um… Gram!" He heard the far-off response of his mother, the name of the restaurant they got the pizza from. "Fiero's Pizza!" Alexis yelled into the phone. "We got it from Fiero's. It was yummy, Daddy. And guess what?"

"What?"

"I like olives now! Grams got them on the pizza and they were yummy!"

Rick smiled, looking into the Precinct. Beckett was sitting at her desk, writing down something. Esposito had gone off somewhere – probably to find Ryan. Rick couldn't take it. He stood up again and made his way to the elevator. He needed some air. It was close to lunch time, anyway. He could grab his own slice of pizza, get some coffee.

"That's great, honey."

The elevator was closing when Beckett looked up.

He looked away.

* * *

><p>"Honey, I have to go," Rick said half an hour later. "I'm at the Precinct."<p>

"Okay, Daddy," his daughter's voice was disappointed. "Are you gonna come down, Daddy? To the beach?" Rick sighed. No, no he wouldn't – he had so much to fix here. God, how was he going to fix all of this here? There was no way he was going to fix this relationship with Beckett.

"Not this time, pumpkin," he said. "But," he quickly amended when he heard troubled breathing. "When you get back, I'm going to take off a day of work and we'll go the park sometime, okay? Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Will Katie come?"

His breath hitched. He leaned against the elevator wall, looking up at the mirror on the ceiling. The elevator door opened and Rick pushed himself away from the bar along the wall. Several Uniforms brushed past him as he exited; they were hasty – probably, another body dropped.

"Maybe, babe," he said; he didn't want to disappoint his little girl – but telling her 'no' straight out was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't want to hang up the phone with her crying or disappointed.

"Okay."

Too late.

"Maybe she will, sweetie," he said. "I just don't know, yet."

"Okay, Daddy."

"I love you, Alexis. More than anything."

"Love you too, Daddy."

"Bye."

The phone clicked off on the other side and Rick looked at the cell phone stupidly. His daughter always said goodbye to him. He went to put the phone away, not wanting to think about it. He balanced the drink carrier while clipping his phone on this belt. Beckett's coffee splashed and a dribble or two went on top of the lid.

He went to his desk and set Beckett's drink on hers. She looked up from her paperwork – exactly the way he left her – and look at the cup and then to him. "Thanks," she whispered and took a long swig of the drink.

"I figured you could use something stronger than the coffee here," he mumbled, looking at their whiteboard. He leaned back against the side of his desk. He heard her chuckle quietly – a whisper in the wind – and then her chair rolled back and she was standing right next to him.

"So, did we get any further in the case? Who is this guy?"

Rick pointed to a picture of a man with curly hair and brown eyes, with a wicked mean look across his face. He looked like a killer – Rick really hoped he was. That would make his life a lot easier… he could go home and eat a TV dinner and watch a movie and write and do all the things that he planned on doing.

"That's Brad," Beckett replied. "Remember our last witnesses said that they saw Stacey leave the party in a Silver Boxter?" Rick nodded. "Well, Brad – her ex-boyfriend – drivers a Silver Boxter. We interviewed him." She sighed. "Apparently, he had Stacey had a falling out. He thought she was cheating. After the party, he wanted to talk but she was only in the car for a few minutes before exiting to meet his mystery man of hers. He went to a bar and was there until after midnight."

Rick sighed.

He waved goodbye to his TV dinner, his movie, writing, and his life…

"That's out of our kill zone."

"Giving him a solid alibi."

Rick cursed. "Damn it. Do we have any other leads? What about her mystery man? Do we know who this guy is?"

Kate shook her head. "Ryan and Esposito are looking into it. I'm trying to finish up paperwork from the triple murder. I didn't get all of it done before…" She stopped. Rick glanced at her and saw her cheeks were bright red; she didn't look away from the murder board. "Well," she amended. "I didn't get it all done."

"Yeah," he replied awkwardly.

* * *

><p>It was around 8 that night when Rick stood up from his desk.<p>

"I'm going home," he told Beckett. Everyone had left a couple of hours before – they had kids to entertain and family dinners to eat. Rick usually had those things but not tonight. Tonight he would go home alone – he would eat a TV dinner, watch a movie, maybe write (but probably not), and then he would go to bed, to sleep (but he probably wouldn't.)

"Okay," Beckett whispered across from him.

He stood up. He grabbed his messenger bag and threw in some of the things he would need for that night: his cell phone and some of the files to look over for the next morning (because usually inspiration struck him in the middle of the night). He squatted down and unplugged his phone charger; he put it away in the bottom desk drawer, waiting to use it for another rainy day.

Rain pounded on the roof of the building so loud that Rick could hear it.

He glanced around the Precinct – no one was here, not even a Uniform.

"Beckett," he said quietly. "Why don't I drive you home?" He paused as she looked up – her eyes reflected strangely in the barely-lit room. He swallowed hardly and looked away – she looked like a wild animal, a cat. Her eyes were electric and he couldn't stand the look of them. Not if he wanted to get out alive.

She sighed. "I can handle myself."

"I know," he replied. "But it will make me feel better to know that you're not driving in this weather." As if God was on his side, a loud crack of thunder echoed throughout the building. Lightning flashed just a second later and Rick met her eyes. She was indecisive but he was going to win. He could tell – and so could she.

"Fine," she whispered.

She gathered her own things – cell phone, files, a spare coffee mug – and put them all in her briefcase. He waited until she reached his side and then he fell into step beside her. The amount of tension – sexual or not, he couldn't tell anymore – was suffocating. Rick could hardly breathe with the amount of it filling up the room.

The elevator door opened right away and for that he was grateful. Slowly, they made their way on board. As they waited for it to close, Kate looked at Rick. He only noticed because he was staring at her through her peripheral vision – trying to read her expression.

Her briefcase dropped to the floor.

"_Shit_," she breathed. Rick looked at her fully, waiting to see if he should retrieve the bag for her or if she was already doing it herself. Neither happened. She was facing him fully now. She took a step toward him and rested her hands on his chest. She shoved him roughly against the elevator door and he thought back to that first day when she had done the very same thing.

This was nothing like that.

His own bag clattered the ground when she snaked her arms around his neck. His arms went around her back immediately, like he had been practicing – like they had done this before. Hadn't they? He thought. Of course they had.

Her mouth came to his and it was hot and wet, like it had been the night before. This felt different – this felt real and confusing and messy. The fact that he had been drunk out of his mind when this happened the first time had blurred the edges of the picture – no he could see clear lines.

He felt her tongue in his mouth before he could do anything about it and he let her lead.

He didn't mind following.


	18. She Owes Me About a 100 Coffees

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 17 – "She Owes Me about a 100 Coffees"<em>

* * *

><p>When Rick woke up the next morning, Kate was gone.<p>

Because it was Kate here last night, not Beckett.

It was six in the morning and still dark outside when he awoke with a start, the taste of a nightmare in his mouth. He couldn't remember what happened but a stabbing pain in his abdomen awoke him and he couldn't help but think that it must have been bad for a physical reaction.

He was exiting the bathroom after dry-gagging when he noticed there wasn't a body lying in his bed.

She was gone.

He went to bed with a huff, turning away from the spot she had occupied most of the night.

They had taken a car of his back to his apartment. Neither wanted to part long enough to drive so they sat in the back, making out and feeling each other up with no amount of decency. The driver was one Rick didn't know so that was good – he wouldn't have to see the "morning-after" judgmental stare.

But perhaps this time he would have been happier with a driver he knew, a judgmental stare. He couldn't help but feel better if even anyone acknowledged that this was happening. No one knew that this was happening.

What exactly was happening?

As two hours passed, Rick tossed and turned, feeling the heat of her on his sheets, the smell of her in his pillow, the feel of her wrapped around him. He couldn't sleep, couldn't get her out of his head. He wanted her out. She was like a parasite – infesting herself in his skin, hiding herself there until he started to itch, then she would leave her sting behind and he would be left itching, cursing, and miserable.

He was miserable now.

At seven, he rolled out of bed, landing safely on his hands and knees. He started at the hardwood ground for a second to breathe. After standing, he stretched to his full height and puttered to the bathroom for a shower.

He smelled like sex.

And he didn't like it.

Not this time.

* * *

><p>He walked into the Precinct with one cup of coffee and a sour mood.<p>

Beckett was at her desk, looking through papers on their case. He looked at her shoulders, strong and hunched over in stress. Was she just as stressed as he was?

Sex was supposed to make people loosen up.

This was the complete opposite.

When the elevator closed, she looked over her shoulder and caught his eye. Her cheeks went pink and she whipped her head around, the bun holding her hair coming undone with the motion. Rick halted, watching as she pulled the ponytail out, run her fingers through the mess (the mess he made, he thought), and put it back up. He shook off his stare and continued his way to his desk.

The sound of his paper cup made a loud echo, despite the number of people milling around, about to start their days. Beckett jumped in her seat and looked up at him.

When he met her eyes, he saw what he saw in himself that morning: regret, wonder, and confusion. So, it wasn't just him. There were some things Kate Beckett could hide very well but she could not hide those eyes – those eyes that revealed everything.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Morning."

She looked down at his paper coffee cup and back up into his eyes. A new emotion tucked itself away in a flash, leaving behind a hardness he had seen from her in the beginning.

Hurt.

She looked away.

There was not a coffee for her.

"Where are we on the case? Any further?"

Beckett took a deep breath and turned her head to the board. Stacy Collins's murder board was still very, very empty. Quotes from party guests, her ex-boyfriend under the 'suspect' column, a mystery man they were still looking for.

"No, nothing. Not since yesterday."

Rick was about to say something else – anything else – but Esposito interrupted them. "Yo, Beckett, Castle," he said, jogging over to them. "Just got this in. Turns out Collins did get a call just before she was killed. From a Duke Jones."

"Duke Jones?" Rick looked away from Beckett. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"Probably because his record reads like a book. One of your books, Castle." Esposito grinned and Rick glared at him. "He's a small-time crook. His record is fall of B and E's and assaults."

"What is a high-class matchmaker doing with a guy like him?" Beckett asked the obvious question.

Esposito shrugged. "I dunno, but I do know that she's been making weekly payments to him of five thousand dollars for the past two months."

"Two months?" Rick asked. "Why two months? What happened two months ago?"

Beckett shrugged. "I don't know… but let's go find out."

* * *

><p>Duke Jones hadn't been any help.<p>

It was almost three and Rick was getting grumpy. Alexis and Martha weren't going to come in for another couple of hours and he still had a case to solve but he could hardly stand to be in this place. Not with her sitting across from him, like nothing had happened.

God, the night was like poison, making its way through his veins. Whenever he looked at her, he could only picture her naked, under him, breathing his name. He couldn't talk to her without hearing the way she talked the night before in between kisses. He wondered if she was thinking about the same things.

Was she like this with her last partner?

"You're staring, Castle."

Her voice broke him out of his reserve. He blinked, licked his lips. He felt his throat bob up and down as the only saliva in his mouth made its way down his throat. "What?" he managed to get out.

She smirked. "You're staring."

He shook his head. "Right, sorry."

There was a lull in the brief conversation. He started to say something – anything – but Beckett said it first. "Look," she whispered, glancing no either side of her, making sure no one was looking. "About last night…"

"Delivery for Mr. Rick Rodgers?"

The voice echoed throughout the Precinct and the spell between he and Beckett was broken. He cursed under his breath and caught her look of relief mixed with a smirk as they both looked toward the elevator. A UPS delivery man was standing there, will a large box resting nicely on a dolly.

Ah, the coffee machine.

Perfect timing.

"Over here!" he called over to them. He looked at Beckett, giving her a small smile. "You are going to love this." Her eyes were confused but she was curious – he could tell by the way her eyebrow rose, and how she stood up with him.

The delivery man held out a clipboard and Rick scrawled his name on the sheet without looking to see if he was writing on the line. He was too busy watching Beckett's reaction. At first, she was calm, collected, as she read the words on the side of the box. "Top of the line." "Espresso machine." "Nothing's better than a cup of coffee." Then her eyes went from dull to delighted; she grinned but then smothered it with cool indifference; her hands were clasped, resting on her chest.

Rick smiled. Perfect.

"You put this together, right?" he asked the delivery man. "That's part of the charge?"

The man hummed in agreement and spun the dolly away, heading to the break room. A crowd had gathered around them. He had pats on the back from his male coworkers and several radiant grins from his female coworkers but he didn't care about them.

"Why?" she asked him, finally tearing her eyes away.

He could have answered coolly with insinuating references to their sexual encounters. He could have been sweet. He could have been an asshole. He could have even mentioned how he didn't have one for her this morning, not because the machine was coming today but how he was mad because she had left him this morning.

Instead, he replied, "Well, my partner? Yeah, she owes me about one-hundred coffees." Her cheeks got red and she looked away, embarrassed. No one else seemed to notice. But he did. He always did. "I figured she could pay me back by adhering to my every caffeine-deprived command."

She slapped his shoulder.

But then she said, "Thank you, Rick. That's actually sort of… sweet."

And that was enough.

* * *

><p>He got home before Alexis and Martha did but not by much.<p>

He had just slopped on a dollop of shampoo in his hair when he heard the loud pitter-patter of heels on his floor, running too quickly to be anyone over the age of five. He finished up quickly, didn't bother with body wash, and got out of the shower. Throwing on a pair of boxers he had waiting for him on the counter, he barely had them on before his daughter came crashing in the room.

"Daddy!" she screamed.

Rick tugged up his boxers quickly before he had fifty pounds thrown onto his leg. He clutched onto the counter to steady himself. "Hey, pumpkin," he greeted, leaning down to pick her up. He wiped away the stray hairs that had fallen out of her bun and did a double take at her face.

"Are you… wearing makeup?"

She giggled. "Yep!" she replied. "Grams let me. She said that I was a big girl now and big girls get to wear makeup." Rick looked at the lime green eye shadow, the bright red lip stick that had strayed away from her lips, and the blush that made her look like she was permanently blushing.

Noticing his mother leaning up against the doorjamb, he replied, "Are you sure you did yourself? Surely Grams must have helped you. It looks just like hers!"

His mother glared and he gave her a cheeky smile. Alexis's eyebrows drew forward and her lips pursed in confusion. "No, Daddy, I did it all by myself."

"Oh, your father is just being smart," his mother replied, coming over to her. "Now, let's go get cleaned up and unpack your clothes while your father goes and makes dinner."

Alexis groaned but reached out to his mother, who grabbed her comfortably. Rick thought about his mother and how it wasn't fair that she was living up her near-and-always-almost retirement by taking care of her granddaughter. She should be off dating and travelling the world. Not a paid-with-dinners-and-occasional-opera-tickets nanny.

Overtaken with gratitude, he reached out and rested a hand on his mother's arm. She stopped, giving him a youthful glace of confusion. She didn't even realize what a help she was, he thought. Oh, how he loved her – despite her faults. Her many, many faults.

He gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Hello, Richard."

"Hello, Mother."

And that was all he had to say. And she knew. He thought about Meredith and how she and his mother shared some of the same antics, the same career, the same pattern with men and yet they were completely different.

This was the kind of woman he wanted to help him raise his little girl. She didn't have to have the frills, the job, the money, the beauty. Someone who loved his daughter like he did – someone who was willing to take care of her when he was away. Someone who didn't need to be thanked with shopping sprees and expensive trips or even sex. Someone who loved him and loved Alexis and who wanted to take care of them.

He wondered if such a woman existed.

He wondered if Kate Beckett was like that.

His mother trotted out of the room, chatting with Alexis, telling her how beautiful she looked with her makeup but she couldn't wear it or her skin would go bad, and Rick smiled. He threw on a pair of old plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt that a whole in the shoulder and looked at himself in the mirror.

He looked old.

The crows-feet by his eyes were always apparent but in the past months, they had become not only an occasional feature but something more permanent. He hadn't shaved in three days and the stubble made him look homeless, not a best-selling author. His hair was disarray from the shower and he ran a hand through it, trying to tame it. He hated when his hair was wavy and unkempt.

He took a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks, letting it go slowly, like a smoke.

Then, he was off to make dinner. Spaghetti sounded good, he figured, and all the ingredients they kept on-hand because it was one of Alexis's favorites. He milled about in the kitchen, getting out a can of Prego, finding spinach in the freezer, and grabbed the tube of whole-grain noodles from the top shelf.

He had just finished the sauce, putting the stove on simmer when the doorbell rang. He heard the drain above him and he knew that meant Alexis and his mother would be emerging soon for dinner. Whoever this was needed to be gone quick because he had dinner with his family.

At the door, he unlocked the top locks and then the door lock and opened it widely.

Kate Beckett stood on the other side. She had showered too, was the first thing he thought. Her hair was still trying, thrown haphazardly into a braid on the side of her head. She was wearing a pair of tight yoga pants, flats, and a large hoodie that had the NYPD logo on it. She wasn't wearing makeup.

Rick, as clichéd as it was, thought she never looked more beautiful.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey," he echoed.

There was a pause.

A long pause.

"So," he offered.

"So…"

He decided to just go for it. What was there to lose? Okay, he mended, there was plenty to lose but he couldn't think about that right now or he'd totally chicken out.

"What are you doing here?"

She opened her mouth to respond but she was interrupted. Somehow, Alexis had managed to go all the way down the stairs, through the living room and to the front door without making a sound. She shrieked and Kate paused, looking down to the floor rather than at him.

"Katie!" she squealed, running over to her. She hugged her leg. "How are you, Katie? Are you coming to eat with us? Daddy made spaghetti, my favorite! Do you like spaghetti? I love it. It's my favorite."

Kate laughed and squatted so she was down to Alexis's level. Rick thought back to when he was in his bathroom, contemplating this dream woman who could take care of he and his daughter. Was this woman, he thought again. Could this woman be Kate Beckett?

"I wasn't going to, Alexis," she whispered for his daughter and his daughter alone. "I was here to apologize to your father."

"Apologize?" Her voice was confused – exactly what he was feeling. She was coming over here to apologize? For what? "What for, Katie? What did you do wrong?"

Kate laughed and ran a hand through the strands that didn't quite make it into the braid. She placed a hand gently on Alexis's shoulder and rubbed it gently, like a mother would. Rick knew that was when he fell in love. He knew that was moment that he fell hard and fell fast for Kate Beckett.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

She smiled and she glanced up at him.

"I was mean to him yesterday night. He needed me and I left him alone."

Well, that was kid-friendly. But no matter how many layers she put on top of why she was actually saying: _We had sex last night and I didn't stay. Then I pretended like it didn't happen_. The message was communicated.

"Oh," Alexis said. "Well, Daddy will forgive you. Right, Daddy?"

She looked up to Rick with hopeful eyes. Kate looked up at him too, with a similar expression but with a lot more caution. She was always cautious.

He needed to say something.

Make her stay.

"Yeah, baby, of course." He squatted down so he was eye-level with both of them. He ruffled his daughter's wet hair, kissed her cheek. "Of course I forgive her." He looked over and his eyes met hers.

_Always_.

The moment broke a second later when his mother came waltzing at the door. "Detective Beckett," she exclaimed. "Come to join us for dinner?"

Kate looked embarrassed and rose to her feet, Rick following suit. He looked at Kate as she answered quietly, "I – I don't think so, Ms. Rodgers. I just came over to see Rick and—"

"Nonsense," he spoke up quickly and without warning.

"Stay for dinner," he told her. "We'd love to have you."

The look on her face started out as surprise, and then uncertainty, and then, when she smiled and said, "Okay" it was happy, open.

_Forgiven_.

And later, after Alexis and his mother were sleeping soundly, after they had come together as one and were lying next to each other in bed, Rick looked at her. He had looked at her and thought back to their dinner, natural and free, and then their adult dessert. How he had held her and touched her – this time it was different. This time wasn't about biology nor was it about sexual tension. It was the blossom of forgiveness.

The best for of make-up sex, like, _ever_.

Her eyes were closed and he smiled at her. When she was sleeping, she was different. She was younger, her whole twenty-four years of youth. She usually acted so much older because she had seen too much and felt too much. But in her sleep, she was innocent. She was Kate. Not Beckett.

"Rick," her mouth moved and her words were quiet, sleepy.

"What?" he asked.

"You're staring."

He ran a finger down her nose and to her lips. He felt her shiver under his touch and her lips pressed together, kissing the digit. He sighed.

"Sorry."

But this time, he didn't mean it.


	19. Think of the People Who Love You

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 18 – "Think of the People Who Love You"<em>

* * *

><p>The call came at six in the morning.<p>

Loudly groaning, Rick rolled over. He fell on the floor and landed loudly on the ground. He grunted and he heard Kate shift from the bed above. "You okay?" she laughed at him. He blinked his eyes open, feeling the pain spike in his back. God, he was going to be sore later.

Rick met her beautiful hazel eyes, more green in the pale morning light.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Oh, Kate… hi," he smiled. "I didn't see you there."

He pushed himself up off the ground and leaned on the side of the bed. Kate held out a hand to him and brushed a stray piece of hair away from his forehead. Her finger sent a shock through him and he held his breath, needing to feel her without any distractions, bodily or otherwise.

His phone stopped ringing and he only realized it because the room was enveloped in a sudden, choking silence. He breathed in deep and opened his eyes. "Where's your phone?" he asked her, thinking of the first time this had happened and two assaulting noises had awoken them.

"Purse." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, then on the corner of his mouth. "It's by the front door." She held her lips over his, not quite touching but he could feel her anyway. Feel the smoothness of her lips, the heat from her breath, and the wetness of her tongue.

His phone rang again and it was louder than before. He sighed, and pecked her on the lips. "I'm guessing that's Esposito. Which means that something's come up."

"Pray it's not another dead body," she sighed, flopping down on the bed. She reached behind her and grabbed another pillow clutching it tightly to her chest. "I want to solve this murder before I have to solve another one."

He chuckled, standing up. "I'll let the murderer know when we catch him. 'Beckett doesn't appreciate you doing this right now. She and I were in the middle of sex." She laughed out loud and looked over to him.

Rick had managed to forget he was standing at his full height and he was completely nude. So when she her eyes went from playful to lustful, he was confused. She rose to her knees, dropping the sheet aside and he looked down to her nakedness.

"Kate…" He thought about time and how they didn't have any of it.

She leaned into him, pressed herself up against him. "We need to shower," she said. "You have fifteen minutes. We'll say that you picked me up because my car's in the shop. Okay?" She pecked him on the lips, then on the nose. "Rick?"

He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He returned her kiss.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>"What's going on, Officer Peabody?"<p>

The officer tore her eyes off of the tall office building and looked to the two detectives coming up behind her. Rick always thought Peabody was cute: she was short and thin, with wispy blond hair and straight cut bangs; her eyes were blue and curious and she was always wearing an open face, despite the dexterity of the job.

"Scott Donner," she answered Beckett calmly, "one of Stacey's clients. Your suspect… Greta Morgan came forth with some information if we offered—" She coughed. "_Um_… Detectives Esposito and Ryan offered her a plea bargain for her prostitution lawsuit."

Kate nodded and Rick tried to process the information. Who the _hell_ was Scott Donner? He had seriously missed a lot the past three days Kate Beckett had infested his mind with her body and her hair and her eyes.

They pushed pass the onlookers and the officers standing by the entrance door. The building was low to the ground – only four or five stories tall – with brown, traditional-looking siding and giant windows. The front lobby was huge with a chandelier hanging ten feet off of the floor. A service counter was to the right with girls dressed in tight pencil skirts, ruffling tops, and hair in tight buns; off to the left was a waiting area with pastel floral chairs.

An officer Rick didn't recognized led them to the second floor and right outside Donner's office. Rick could hear the man yelling inside. He heard the calming voice of Ryan and the gruff voice of Esposito. Kate looked at him, her hair flying over her shoulder, like a helicopter glider.

"I'll go in," she said. "We don't want too much company. Okay?"

He didn't like the idea of her going in alone but he nodded. She could handle herself, he knew that – knew that far too well – and, besides, Esposito and Ryan were inside with her. She would be fine. She _would_ be fine.

That didn't stop the fear that gripped his heart, turning it ice cold.

"Okay," he told.

She nodded once and then her face was hard, emotionless. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The door closed behind her but didn't quite shut. Rick stood close to the gap between the doorframe and the wall and listened.

"Mr. Donner," she said. "I'm going to need you to calm down."

"I didn't mean to kill her!" he man yelled, crazed. Rick suddenly remembered him: they had interviewed him – he was one of the partygoers, one who praised Stacey Collins and her matching abilities. Rick was usually good at picking out liars – he imagined Beckett was as well. How had he missed that? Because he was distracted?

_Love struck_?

He was almost disgusted with himself. If it had been over any other woman, he would have kicked himself hard enough to hurt.

But Kate Beckett wasn't just _any other woman_.

Kate was talking again. "Scott, I need you to put down that gun." Her voice was heartfelt but serious. "Think about the people that love you. Think about what you would put them through if they lost you like this. Scott, please." There it was: _desperation_. "Put down the gun."

A silence rang throughout the building.

Rick held his breath until his chest hurt. He slowly exhaled and then he heard the sound of a dropping gun onto the floor – one of the most glorious sounds in the world. He backed away from the door and just a second later Esposito and Ryan came bursting through the door with Scott in handcuffs.

Kate came out just after them, holstering her gun. Rick caught her eye and she stopped dead. "What?" she asked, her hands frozen over her holster. "What's wrong?"

He fixed his face so he was smiling. "Nothing," he said. "Just… nice speech in there."

She glared at him and punched him in the arm. "Shut up."

* * *

><p>That night, Rick sat on his living room couch, nursing a scotch and staring at a blank document on his laptop. Alexis laid beside him, completely knocked out from a long afternoon and night of wizard wand battles, a big pizza from Ray's, and ice cream.<p>

He had been playing with her hair while she watched Aladdin but she was asleep by the time Genie had sang "Never Had a Friend Like Me." Rick had turned off the movie when the credits started rolling and grabbed his laptop off of the coffee table.

He needed to write.

Something new. Something long-term. He needed a character he could tap into on demand. Someone he could relate to. Someone he wouldn't get bored with. He thought of Kate Beckett and her history, her beauty, and was inspired but he didn't want to put her on paper.

She was such a vibrant person, so alive and warm. She would be a wonderful character. But he wanted to know her – the _real_ her. Not surface level, not novel-quality knowing but _actual_ knowing. He wanted to know her favorite color and where she went on summer vacation and where her childhood home was. He wanted to know her as Rick Rodgers, not Rick Castle.

He sighed.

He established two hours before that he didn't want a woman detective – it would have been too tempting to make her exactly like Kate Beckett and it would have turned into a porn novel (_a dirty, dirty porn novel_).

He liked the name Derek.

He also liked puns.

But that's as far as he had gotten.

His phone rang and he jumped up. Alexis shifted over and groaned; she flopped over and dug her head into the side of the couch. Rick made a mental note to move her so she didn't suffocate herself. Sighing, he leaned forward and plucked the phone buzzing on the coffee table.

The caller I.D. read: _Gina (Run away!)_.

He took a deep breath and pressed the talk button. "Hello?" he whispered quietly.

"Oh, good," Gina snarled. "I got ahold of you the first time."

"What do you want, Gina? I was about to put Alexis to bed. We've got a big day planned tomorrow and she doesn't need to be woken up by your yelling."

Gina let out a gasp of anger. "Richard Rodgers Castle," she called him by his full-_ish_ name. "I hope the day you have planned tomorrow is at home. Your manuscript was due today. It's officially late. The last piece of crap you gave me was immediately burned. What the hell was that, anyway? Trying out writing pornos?"

Ah, he remembered. To get her off of him the three weeks before, he gave her one of the snippets that he had written about him and Beckett (safely covered under different names, of course). "I thought I could maybe bring some class to that area of entertainment," he offered.

He could hear her eye-roll in her voice. "Well, it sucked, Rick. Get something of decency on my desk by Friday or…" She made a sound at the back of her throat. "You don't even want to know what I'll do to you!"

"I'm sure I don't," he sighed.

There was a pause. "God, you should just sleep with her and get it over with," she said. Rick was floored and he sputtered out some incoherent response. He wasn't even sure where he was going with it when Gina finally shushed him. "Your Detective Beckett – sleep with her and get over it, Rick. I can read you know. Calling them 'Jameson Rook' and 'Nikki Heat' aren't exactly the best cover-ups you've ever had."

He took a deep breath, willing his heartbeat to calm the hell down. He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to say. Was he supposed to deny it, say he didn't care? Was he supposed to tell her that they already were sleeping together and he still couldn't get her out of his head? Was he supposed to say that the manuscript was legit? It kind of was – he liked Jameson and Nikki.

"Okay," he decided.

She hung up without another word and Rick was left staring at the blank television screen, his laptop blurred in his vision and his sleeping girl snuggling up to his leg.

* * *

><p>He finished up his work about three hours after he got there.<p>

He shuffled the papers together and tapped them on the edge of his desk, straightening them. He looked up at Kate, who had been staring into her computer screen for the last half an hour. He made a low coughing sound in his throat and she turned her head to him.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm done," he claimed, trying to not have any underlying context but failing badly.

She nodded.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, between his teeth so it made this whistling sound. She cocked her head to the side in confusion and he smiled. Everything was awkward and yet it… wasn't. The situation was awkward – coworkers sleeping together – but they weren't. They were fine. Weird. Two days ago it wasn't like that.

"Alexis gets out of school in about fifteen minutes," he said after a moment, after she had looked back at her computer screen. She looked over at him again at the sound of Alexis's name. He could tell: she really liked Alexis. Just like he really liked her. "I was going to take her to the park. It'll probably be the last time we go before winter."

She smiled.

"Do you want to come with us?"

She sputtered, placing her hands on the edge of her desk. He saw her knuckles turn white from squeezing. "You want me to what?" she seemed to hardly get her words out without choking. Had he said something wrong?

"I wanted you to come to the park… with Alexis and me."

"Are you sure that's…" she lowered her voice, and looked around the bullpen. He did as well. There were only a few people here at the moment. The captain was in his office, yelling on the phone. Esposito and Ryan had gone out for Chinese food fifteen minutes before. There was a handful of Uniforms and even less detectives. They were unnoticed.

Was… that it?

"That's such a good idea?" she finished. "I mean…" she lowered her eyes, ashamed. "We've never exactly gone out in… public before."

Ah, he thought. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me, detective?" He gave her a playful smile, one that he knew made her knees quiver. She had told him so two nights ago. _That smile you give me when you're being a smartass – it makes my knees shake_. She glared at him and he knew she was thinking the same thing.

"I'm not embarrassed," she told him. "Just…" she searched for the word, touching her chin with one of her long, elegant fingers, "apprehensive."

He nodded and leaned forward, like he had a secret. "It's just two coworkers going out with one coworker's daughter. There may even be food and coffee in it for you."

"I don't know if I need the coffee," she matched his pose. "I've got a nice cappuccino machine here. And I'm pretty sure I have a pack of peanuts in my desk. I believe your leverage just went out the window, Ricky."

She leaned back, smirking. She was proud of herself.

Well, it took two to tango.

"But what you don't have here is Alexis," he said to her. Her face fell forward, her ego shot. There, he thought, he had her. "And sometimes, after a long case and a long week…" He thought, "that just started, you need some good, quality Alexis time."

She bit her lip, squinting her eyes in indecision.

Finally, she whispered, "Okay."

* * *

><p>Alexis bounced up and down in her car seat on the way to the park. She clapped her hands together, her red pigtails bouncing up and down in excitement.<p>

"I'm so excited to go to the park!" she sang joyfully.

Kate was smiling in the passenger seat. He glanced at her discreetly but it wasn't discreetly enough. "What?" she asked, giving him an amused smile.

"Nothing." He reached over and ran his hand along her arm. He felt the tiny hairs stand up and she shivered as if she was suddenly cold. He gave her a grin. "I'm just happy you're going with us."

"Well, you did promise me food and coffee, so…"

He laughed out loud. Before he could respond, Alexis asked, "Daddy, why are you laughing?"

"No reason, pumpkin," he looked at her in the review mirror. "Katie is just really funny."

She nodded, puckering her lips. "Oh, I knew that already, Daddy."

* * *

><p>A half an hour later, it was just a little past noon. With coffee in hand, they trekked across the park to a secluded area covered by tall oak trees and a small pond. There was an abandoned swing set and picnic table – scratched and rusty over the years of not being used.<p>

At first, Kate and Rick sat down at the picnic table while Alexis played by the pond – picking up rocks and hurling them as far as she could. But soon, she had dragged them both down by the water to have contests and see who could throw the farthest. After the tenth time he and Kate and thrown lightly on purpose, she stomped her foot, telling them to try their hardest.

Giving each other a playful look, the heat was on. "Okay, ready?" Alexis asked from in between them. They both nodded, eyeing each other. "Okay. Three… two… _one_!" Alexis threw her rock with all the strength her little arms had but Rick and Kate threw much farther.

Rick rock – a small thing with smooth edges – went out to about mid-lake. Kate's – a larger, sharply-edged one – followed his by a few feet. She whooped and high-fived Alexis, who was screaming and making fun of her father.

"Daddy got beat by a _girl_!" she proclaimed loudly.

Kate knelt down next to her and tightened the scarf around her neck. She used both hands to smooth down her hair and she was grinning at her.

Rick felt like time had slowed down. He could feel the wind whipping past them, cold and harsh; he could feel his heart beating loudly in his chest and the faint sound of his breathing and the blood rushing in his ears; he could smell the fishy water.

But these senses weren't strong. They were quiet, faint the sight in front of him. The sight of Kate Beckett – his partner in crime, his lover in bed, his friend at the oddest moments, his tease the rest of the time – smoothing down his daughter's hair, grinning at her like that was too much.

She stopped and looked up at him.

He suddenly realized that he was close to her. He was kneeling too, right behind Alexis and right in front of her. He looked down at her lips and she was so close – so very close. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of green with the brown trees and gray sky as a background. Her hair had fallen oddly – a strand off to the right that shouldn't have been, half of it behind her shoulder. Her cheeks were red from the wind (or maybe it was blushing). And her lips.

God, those lips.

He had never seen her face look like this. So happy, carefree, _loving_.

"I think I love you," he told her.

And that face fell.


	20. Nine Year Old On a Sugar High

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 19 – "Nine-Year-Old on a Sugar High"<em>

* * *

><p>"I call Detective Katherine Beckett to the stand."<p>

Everyone's eyes shifted as the woman in question stood up from the back of the room. Rick took a deep breath and turned his head to look at her. She looked beautiful, like always. She wore long black pants and her boots; her top was white and flowing, tied at her collar bone.

He heard his lawyer, Brian Hernandez, sigh next to him.

"You really screwed things up," he whispered as Kate Beckett passed them, like a cloud of smoke. Rick rolled his eyes and looked back up to the front of the room, trying to ignore the words, no matter how true they were.

Because they were true – too true.

It had been almost two weeks. Two weeks since the last time he and Kate had sex; two weeks since she had smiled at him; two weeks since she had laughed at one of his jokes; two weeks since that fateful day in the park when he told her he loved her.

He was actually surprised to see her here, advocating for him. He had rushed to find someone else, anyone else, but everyone was booked for 6 PM at the beginning of November. He had understood but that hadn't stopped his worry. If someone didn't show then he wouldn't have full custody of his kid.

He should have known Kate Beckett would pull through, though.

She always did.

Brian sighed and stacked the papers sitting in front of him. He glanced over to the other side of the court to see Meredith's lawyer, Jackie O'Connell, but no Meredith in sight. She hadn't even bothered to come to the meeting. Jackie had persuaded to the judge: _Meredith had been called away, a single working mother and all, and had to take every job she could get_.

The judge had barely allowed for the trial to continue.

"Detective Beckett." Brian addressed her and stood up. Rick looked at her: she was stoic in her seat – she looked a lot like a statue, porcelain, beautiful, and cold. "Can you please explain your relationship with Detective Richard Rodgers?"

He saw her swallow.

She met his eyes. "He's my partner," she told Brian. "We work together at the Twelfth Precinct in Manhattan."

"And when were you assigned to him?"

She shifted her eyes to his lawyer. Brian was sitting on the edge of the table, arms crossed – he looked relaxed and serious all at the same time. That was one of the strangest things about him: he was constantly contradicting. He wanted a wife but he never wanted a girlfriend; he wanted children but he didn't really like little kids; he wanted Coke but he loved Pepsi-selling restaurants.

"At the beginning of September," she answered.

"And has the partnership worked out well, in your favor?"

She sighed. "Yes," she said. "Detective Rodgers is a great officer. He has a certain… insight that is well-used in our cases." The corner of her mouth lifted in the slightest smile. "He has crazy ideas but they seem to be right thirty percent of the time."

Brian chuckled – he was the only in the room to do so.

"Only thirty?"

She shrugged. "Give or take."

The tension in the room was suddenly high. The pleasantries were over, Rick could tell. They moved from the calm waters to the deep seas. It was getting rough, a storm overhead. Rick tried to stop the analogies racing through his brain but he couldn't – he did this when he was nervous.

"And have you met Rick's daughter, Alexis Rodgers?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"What do you think of her upbringing?"

Kate Beckett was never one to hesitate. She was always so sure with her movements, so confident with each step; grace radiated off of her like beauty. And she was beautiful.

She hesitated.

"I think Alexis's upbringing hasn't been easy," she answered truthfully. "I grew up with two parents who stayed together until my mother…" She swallowed, "_died_. I think it's unfortunate that Mr. Rodgers and Mrs. Rodgers couldn't reconcile their differences. That being said…"

She looked over at Rick again. Her eyes looked browner in the dingy courtroom. The white walls and ugly wooden stand she was sitting on made the whole room look lifeless and dull. But she still managed to stand out, like a bright painting on the side of an abandoned building.

"I think Rick is doing a wonderful job." Her voice was barely a whispered. She coughed and cleared her throat. "I have never met Mrs. Rodgers. I don't believe she's been around for months. Rick is a single dad, raising his almost three-year-old daughter, and he's also a homicide detective. His responsibilities are stretched thin."

Brian was nodding.

"Do you think he is fit to raise Alexis without his wife?"

There was no hesitation this time.

"Yes."

"Thank you, Detective Beckett."

Brian Hernandez came around the table and sat down next to Rick. He kicked him and Rick looked over. He was smiling, giving him that look that said, "We won." Rick wasn't so sure – he still felt apprehension. He was still nervous. His palms were sweating.

Jackie O'Connell stood up. She was a heavy-set woman who wore too much makeup and never high heels. Her steps were quiet as she rounded the corner of her own table. She picked up a piece of paper on her table and read: "Detective Katherine Beckett, twenty-four years old, youngest Uniform to ever be promoted to detective in the NYPD. Impressive." Jackie glanced up, awaiting a response.

"Thank you." Kate Beckett didn't give her anything – she didn't take the bait.

"Have you had a partner before Mr. Rodgers?"

"No."

"Do you prefer to work with a partner or without, Detective?"

Kate tucked a strand of hair behind her head, something she did when she needed a few more seconds to come up with an answer. "At the beginning, I would have said without," she told her. "I'm a control freak and, sometimes, Rick is like a nine year old on a sugar high, completely incapable of taking anything seriously. But it's different now."

"Is it?"

Kate nodded.

"And how's that?"

She looked to the ceiling and then back down at Jackie, meeting her head-on. "He brings ideas to the murder board that I would never think of before. Where I am all books, he's all imagination. He's great at motivation which, in the end, helps us find nearly every murderer we're looking for."

Jackie nodded.

"You called him 'Rick' earlier," she said after a moment. Kate looked surprised – and confused. She was about to respond when Jackie cut her off. "You called him Rick… 'Rick is like a nine-year-old on a sugar high…'"

Kate's eyes narrowed.

Rick felt like he was going to throw up.

"Do you and Mr. Rodgers have a personal relationship outside of work?"

Clearing her throat, she responded, "Yes, of course. That's common amongst partners. I've met with his family for dinner and even played with Alexis from time to time."

"And what about intimately… have you and Mr. Rodgers ever had sex, Detective?"

_Oh, God._

"Objection!" Brian cried out; he rose to his feet, his face turning a nasty shade of red. "Relevancy. Your Honor, what does Mr. Rodgers's personal relationship with his partner have anything to do with how he raises his daughter?"

The judge sighed and rubbed his eyebrow, a habit Rick was familiar with. It usually came somewhere between lunch time and _I-don't-give-a-shit-o-clock_.

"Sustained," he finally said. "Move on, Mrs. O'Connell."

* * *

><p>Rick won full-custody.<p>

With the topic of him and Kate's sexual life thrown off of the table, the meeting was fairly easy after that. Jackie had visibly deflated and asked her basic questions about Rick's parenting skills: do you think it's best for Alexis to be kept away from her mother? Do you think Alexis will still have the motherly affection young girls need? Do you think Mr. Rodgers is capable of handling his busy work schedule and raising his daughter alone?

_Yes._

_ Yes._

_ Yes._

Her answers had been short and sweet – right to the point. She had exited the stand shortly after and walked right out of the courtroom, not waiting for the verdict. Afterwards, he had shaken Brian's hand in thanks and had just turned his phone back on when he exited the courtroom himself.

The windows revealed darkness, nightfall. The streetlamp across the rode showed the lone tree shaking with the cold wind. People walking by were stuffing their hands deeper into their coat pockets or tugging scarves around their necks.

His eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness of the lobby and a shape appeared in front of the window with long brown hair, black pants, boots, and flowing top.

Kate Beckett.

He approached her, taking a deep breath. Once he reached her, he stared into the window. Reflected, her face revealed trouble, indecision, and nerves. "How did it go?" she asked finally, breaking the silence like bursting a bubble that had gotten too large to sustain itself.

"We won," he told her.

She smiled a little, the nerves receding for a moment. "Good."

He looked down at his shoes, a nervous habit he had ever since he was a teenager, trying to ask his first girlfriend out on a date (she said yes, of course). He swallowed, willing himself to gather the courage and ask her.

"Let me take you out to dinner, Kate."

She looked over at him and he immediately saw her answer: no. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Rick," she told him. "I mean… after everything that's happened, I don't think it'd be very appropriate."

He stopped her. Grabbing onto her arm, he squeezed.

"I'm not sorry about what I said at the park," he told her. Her eyes wavered back and forth and it took everything in him to not stare at her lips – puckered and wet and delicious. "But I am sorry about the timing. I really like you, Kate. A lot."

Kate tried to shrug away from him but he squeezed her arm tighter. He could feel his palms sweating profusely now – and a drip of sweat fell down his back. God, he was nervous. His heart was hammering in his chest. He had slept with this woman, told this woman he loved her, and yet he couldn't ask her out on a date? What was _wrong_ with him?

"I want to know more about you," he went on, babbling now. "I don't just want this to be a 'partners with benefits' relationship. You deserve more than that, Kate." She bit her lip, frowning deeply. "Let me take you out to dinner."

Rick waited.

He had never been one for long silences or empty spaces. He would always fill in awkward silences with blabber and stupid jokes. Empty spaces were covered with obnoxious band posters and stacks of books.

But he would wait for her.

He wouldn't push her but he would wait.

He would wait forever and he didn't even know why.

"I like you too," she finally said, giving him a shy look.

He grinned like an idiot. He could tell because he could see himself in the window. She cracked a smile and she tucked a strand behind her ear. He lifted his free hand and ran his palm down the bangs that weren't cooperating.

"I know a great place downtown," he said. "It's quiet and romantic."

She smiled. "I'm sure you do."

* * *

><p>Jackie O'Connell was not one to lose.<p>

She could count on her fingers every time she had lost a case.

Being passed around in foster homes from the time she was seven to the time she was eighteen had made her passionate about her job. Many of her coworkers hated her because she was brutal, harsh, and uncooperative. But she wasn't working to impress them. She was there to make a difference for the children.

She never really liked Meredith Rodgers.

But Rick Rodgers? She liked him even less. He was a playboy, a charmer. He was a good dad, sure, but he wasn't going to be a good mom as well. With his books and his murders, where was his daughter going to fit?

She wasn't.

"You wanted to see me?"

The voice of Toby Anderson was weak and nervous. Jackie tore her eyes away from the court window and looked at the young boy next to her. He was in his early twenties, just out of college, and on an internship with the New York Times. He was a wimp but that didn't make him bad his job. In fact, with his ability to hide, it made him pretty damn good.

She handed him a roll of twenties, five-hundred dollars given to her by her client.

"I have a job for you."

She looked back at the window. Inside the courtroom lobby, Rick Rodgers had lifted a hand to his partner's face. To people passing by, it would look like an affectionate touch between lovers – and that's exactly what it was.

After a moment, the couple let go of each other and they walked outside to the cold. Jackie stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets. She watched as they both took separate cars – but turned right at the entrance of the parking lot, probably going the same direction.

"What is it Ms. O'Connell?"

She smiled, letting her white teeth show.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>

**Um, because of that freaking amazing alkdjfas;dlfjasldjfsad finale, I'm updating now. Got to say – inspiration comes in handy sometimes. ;)**

**Until next time,  
>Lizzy<strong>


	21. Details

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 20 – "Details"<em>

* * *

><p>"Come on, Castle, we're your friends. <em>Details<em>."

Rick wasn't sure how he got in this situation. He was one who was great at avoiding things he did not want to talk about. He flashbacked to his mother had caught him sneaking into the apartment in high school – she had wanted to ground him so he asked about her date. By the time she was done flailing about her "possible husband" she had completely forgotten why she was up waiting for him in the first place.

But standing here now, he wasn't sure what to say. Part of the reason was that he wasn't expecting this harassment this early in the morning – the other part was that he wasn't even sure what they were talking about.

"Come on… did you see Beckett in her jammies? Oh, wait. _Out_ of her jammies?" Esposito was _way_ too hyper this morning. Rick slid along the wall, away from the elevator so unsuspecting Uniforms could go do their jobs. Ryan grabbed onto to Rick's upper arm and he looked at the detective with confused eyes.

"What the hell are you two talking about?"

They rolled their eyes at the same exact moment. That was creepy, he thought and wondered how much time someone had to spend time with someone else to execute that with perfect syndication.

"Oh, come on," Ryan said. "You know what we're talking about." He made a nodding gesture to the other side of the bullpen, to the area where their desks were. Beckett wasn't there because he had dropped her off at her apartment this morning so she could get ready.

He still wasn't sure what they were indicating.

He shook his head. "No, I really don't."

Rick rested his hand on top of Ryan's and lightly pushed him away. Ryan let him go and stepped back next to Esposito. Rick sighed and walked ahead, hoping to leave that awkward conversation behind with the chiming of the elevator.

No such luck.

He had just settled into his desk chair and turned his computer on when the boys were at it again. He glanced over and jumped: Esposito was sitting on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest and wearing a grimace while Ryan was sitting in the chair next to his desk with his legs crossed and his chin resting on his knuckles.

Rick shoved his keyboard back in irritation.

"What is going on? Seriously, guys."

They both seemed to drop the act at the same time. The teasing and mockery went away – faces of nervousness and confusion replaced it. "You don't know?" Esposito said.

"Know _what_?"

Ryan and Esposito glanced at each other and then Ryan took the lead. "Castle… have you… um… have you…" Ryan cleared his throat and Rick felt his temper rising. It had been a wonderful night and yet, after Kate had gone to sleep, he had stayed up thinking about what would happen in the future.

She liked him.

And he was totally in love with her.

But was that enough? Love hadn't exactly proven strong enough in the past. He had loved Meredith at one point and that hadn't turned out well. He had loved other women as well but he was still somehow alone. He was charming, sure, and had a beautiful daughter that stole women's hearts but he never managed to keep them.

He had been notorious for giving his heart way too quickly in the past.

Was it happening again?

He had been up all night after that, watching Kate sleep and thinking about this future that was unclear. He didn't want to think about it but he had a daughter who needed stability and, frankly, he didn't think his heart could take another beating again.

It had shattered one too many times.

"Will someone please just tell me what the hell is going on?"

His voice echoed across the Precinct. He felt is eyes widen at the sound. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the whole room of people looking in their direction. He felt his face flush in embarrassment and his neck hot. "Okay," he called. "Show's over. Nothing to see." He turned around before he could see if anyone listened to him.

"Esposito," he turned to the man sitting on the edge of his desk. "What is going on?"

He took a deep breath.

"_Castle_!"

The two men squeaked in unison and hurried back to their own desks.

Rick watched them go, glaring. Back-stabbers, he thought. He turned around and watched as Beckett – no longer the Kate from last night – stomp across the room and in front of his desk. She looked radiant as always – white t-shirt and long jeans and her black boots. But her face was something different – fury masking the hurt and the confusion.

What was _with_ everyone today?

She skidded to a stop in front of him. "I need to speak with you." She glanced to the break room; her lip twitched. "Alone. Now."

She walked off, leaving him to stare at the ghost of her.

He waited a minute to let her calm down. He checked his phone, his email, and then finally got the courage to follow her. He took a deep breath and pushed his chair in quietly after him. As he walked to the break room, he noticed that the bullpen had gone empty.

_No witnesses_, he thought idly.

He reached the break room and shut the door quietly behind him. The blinds had already been pulled and the other door closed. Beckett had her back turned towards him and she was staring out the lone window. He couldn't see her face at all and that scared him.

"Kate?"

She looked at him. Behind closed doors, her face was clear to him. She had tears in her eyes. Her arms were loosely crossed over her chest but instead of overbuilding rage, he saw her pressing hard enough on herself to keep her heart inside her chest.

"Kate, what's wrong?"

She shook her head.

"Have you seen the paper this morning?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No," he replied. "I came here after I dropped you off at your apartment. Why? What's happened?" She turned away from him again and walked over to the counter on the other side of the room. She picked up the newspaper and stared at it. "Kate?"

She whirled back around and threw the paper onto the table blocking them.

"Look at it."

Rick walked forward and snatched the paper, like someone was about to steal it. He looked on the front. After reading through headlines of the latest political battle, Beckett huffed. "Page six, Castle."

He glanced up at her, wondering why she called him _Castle_.

Time seemed to slow down as he turned to page six. On the top of the page the headline read, "_Two Worlds Collide? Rick Castle spotted eating a romantic dinner with NYPD detective, Kate Beckett_"

Rick felt like he was going to throw up. The article was basically all speculation – and while most of it was true, the only evidence the writer had was the picture. There weren't any sources or outside sources or unnamed sources or any other kind of "source." They could deny this. They could do it.

"What are we going to do, Rick?" she asked. Her voice was full of tears. She choked. Rick came around the table, not wanting to hear her like this. He didn't want her to cry. He couldn't watch her cry. "Everyone has seen it, Rick. Everyone knows. God."

She turned away from him.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her into him. She struggled against him for only a second before going limp in his arms. "Everything is going to be fine," he told her. He breathed in the smell of her hair; just like cherries. "We'll get through this, Kate."

After a moment she whispered, "We're going to lose our jobs. What am I supposed to do?" She looked up at him and rested a hand on his cheek. "And you? What about Alexis?"

He took her arm and gently stroked her wrist, right where her pulse was. "We're going to be fine, Kate. I promise. No one will know. The piece is all speculation."

"But the restaurant –"

"We'll get out of this, Kate. I promise."

He kissed her on both of her cheeks, her nose, lips, and, finally, her forehead.

He wanted to say something else to reassure but he didn't have the opportunity to. There was a loud banging on the door. "Castle, Beckett!" Captain Montgomery's voice came on the other side as they flew apart. "I need to see you two in my office. _Now_."

The couple glanced at each other. The terror melted away into quiet resignation in Kate's eyes. She backed away from him slowly. Her eyes still attached to his, she called out, "Yes, sir. Just getting some coffee."

Then she turned away.

And Rick realized that his heart was going to get beaten again.

* * *

><p>The door latched quietly behind Captain Montgomery.<p>

Rick swallowed loudly. He could feel Kate's eyes on him afterwards and he knew that his nervousness had been projected throughout the space. The captain brushed by his shoulders and Rick shivered.

Briefly, he wondered what would happen to him once he lost his job. Because that was what was going to happen: he and Beckett were going to be let go. He would have to go home and explain to his mother, and then Alexis, what had happened. He would have to go to Gina – something he hated doing – and come up with a plan to produce more books. And the inspiration? Where was that going to come from? And what if his books didn't sell?

How could he have let this happen?

How could he have let his emotions get in the way of his job?

God, he really liked Kate but he couldn't afford to lose this job. Well, technically, he could, but he didn't want to. He loved solving murders, helping people, and then writing his murder books when he got home. To him, it was therapy for the stress of the job. Writing was something he loved and he was grateful to be paid for it but here, in the bullpen, was where he _belonged_.

And what about Kate?

He thought about her mother's murder – something she hadn't mentioned since that first time – and what would happen when she didn't have this job to distract her from it.

And what would happen to _them_?

"I assume you two have seen the morning paper." Montgomery sat down behind his desk. They each nodded, not bothering with pleasantries or even with a 'yes, sir.' This meeting was anything but casual and all of them knew it. Rick was pretty sure the whole Precinct knew it too.

The captain leaned back in his chair and sighed, looking up at the ceiling with exasperation.

"What were you two thinking?" he finally asked. He looked at Kate hard in the eye. "Detective Beckett, you know the rules. You are a stickler on the rules. Why the _hell_ would you put yourself through this? And Detective Rodgers—" He turned his focus onto Rick, who shrank back in his seat. "You have only been on this task force for, what, three months? And now you are losing your job. I know you write your books but when those don't sell, how are you going to feed your daughter?"

It was a low blow, no matter how deserving Rick was. He lowered his eyes to the floor. Under his lashes, he glanced at Beckett. She looked much like he did. Crunched over, eyes on the floor, ashamed. Ashamed of them. Of the nights they spent connected, together, laughing, loving.

He wanted to feel ashamed.

But he didn't.

"What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Rick looked up. "Captain, the article was all speculation. Beckett and I were just eating after the trial. Sir—"

_"Don't you lie to me, detective_!"

Captain Montgomery rose to his feet; his chair scraped on the floor and it tipped but readied itself before it fell to the floor. Roy's eyes were huge and furious. Rick could feel Beckett shaking next to him. Rick didn't waver or look away from his eyes.

"I'm not—"

There was a pounding on the door and he heard Beckett gasp in surprise. Rick was relieved of Montgomery's sight as the captain looked over to the door. Esposito was on the other side, his face pale and his eyes bright with worry. Montgomery sighed and lifted his hand, waving the detective inside.

Rick looked fully at Beckett. She was looking straight ahead, to the wall behind Montgomery's desk and not to him, Montgomery, or Esposito. She looked like a porcelain doll – frozen in time, staring at something only she could see.

"Captain," Esposito said. "We have a call."

"This is hardly the time, Detective Esposito."

Rick tore his eyes away from his lover, his partner, his sometime friend and to Esposito. The detective was visibly shaking and he looked like he was going to throw up. Dumbly, Rick thought about what a weird day it had been – first the interrogation by the guys, then the paper, the kissing in the break room, and now this.

He was good at predicting the endings to books.

But he would never have guessed this would happen today.

"Yes, sir, with all due respect, it is," Esposito replied. "There's someone on Beckett's line, calling for…" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Calling for Johanna Beckett."


	22. Unless You Stop Me

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 21 – "Unless You Stop Me"<em>

* * *

><p>Rick could see Beckett's hands shaking as she reached down to her desk phone. She picked it up slowly and her eyes shuffled to all the people standing around her desk, watching her – him, Esposito, Ryan, Montgomery, and several other Uniforms and detectives.<p>

She met his eyes and blinked heavily. He saw the bob of her throat as she swallowed. "Detective Beckett," she said. Rick picked up the other receiver, the one tracking the cell phone, and met her eyes once more. She was looking at the parade of elephant statues on her desk. She ran her finger down the back of one, her eyes distant.

"Detective?" The voice was cold, indifferent, calm. It was slimy, like stepping in moss while walking along river barefoot. Rick felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he shivered. "Since when are you a detective, Johanna? You could not have changed careers so quickly." There was a pause and Rick could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "But then again, you always were a strong, independent, and intelligent woman. You can do anything you put your mind to."

Beckett clenched her teeth together. "Johanna Beckett is… _dead_." Her voice faltered on the 'dead', like she had something stuck in her throat. "This is her daughter, Kate Beckett."

"Kate Beckett?"

"Yes. What do you want?"

There was a laugh. "I would like to report a murder, of course." Rick's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. A murder? What the hell was going on? "Alex Peterman, personal injury lawyer. You'll have the address soon enough." Rick looked down at the timer. He would have an address – in _3, 2, 1_…

Got it.

And he heard the dial tone as their mystery man hung up.

* * *

><p>At the train station, Alex Peterman had been huddled on the inside one of the telephone booths.<p>

When Beckett had leaned over him, Rick watched as she suppressed the urge to gag. He was a balding man, in his mid-forties wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. Rick could see the light of recognition in her eyes. However, there had been so many forty-something businessman murders this past year, he had assumed it was just déjà vu.

"Lanie," she said. "What do you have for me?"

Now, in the morgue, Beckett didn't look much better. From his distance, he could see the paleness of her skin, the blue vein on her forehead protruding from the frustration, and the clamminess of her hands as she touched the back of her neck.

Lanie sighed. "We have seven gunshots to the chest. They _are_ standard 22 but there was a sort of indentation in each of them." They followed her over to one of the lab tables, where the seven bullets were lined up one-by-one, like letters in a Scrabble game.

Rick and Beckett leaned over it. Before he had a chance to even look at them, Beckett pushed passed him and ran out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. He glanced at Lanie, who was staring at the floor solemnly.

He felt his brain bounce around in his head as the migraine came in like a freight train. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long minute and then opened his eyes, focusing them down on the bullets.

They spelled, "JOHANNA."

Feeling his eyes prickle with tears, he blinked them away quickly. Behind him, Lanie said, "She needs you Rick." He looked at her, ready to deny it because even though he wanted to crawl under a rock and die for what Kate must be feeling he still had to keep this secret.

Their secret.

She interrupted, "It's plain to my eyes, Rick, that something happened between you two. And she needs you. I think you're the first one she's really let in for years."

"Really?"

She smiled sadly. "Before you, it had been almost two years since she slept with someone."

He looked down at the ground. "I hadn't realized," he mumbled.

"You wouldn't unless she told you. She's a hard woman to read. She's got a wall a mile high all around her." He nodded, agreeing completely. "But now, her emotions are written on her face. She packed up her mother's case a year after she joined the Force because she was destroying herself. She's suffering right now. She's living it all over again. And I think, if anyone, you're the one who could comfort her."

He swallowed thickly. "You're right." The last thing he wanted to do was walk down that hall and find her crying. The last thing he wanted to do was see Kate Beckett stumble and fall so hard she might not ever get up. But he would.

He would because he loved her. Because even though he still hardly knew anything about her, even though they had only gone on one date that had been sabotaged by the paparazzi, even though he had only known her for three months, he knew.

Rick was always one to give his heart away too quickly.

And Kate Beckett was no exception.

His eyes refocused on Lanie, who was staring at him with those big brown eyes of hers. She gave him an encouraging smile and a nod towards the door. "Off with you, Castle," she said. "I have work to do. And you have a detective to save. And a murder to solve."

He nodded and took off towards the door. He jogged down the hallway and skidded at the end of the hall. There was a bathroom down the way and he knew that she was down there. It made more sense that she would go to the car and grieve but the bathroom was closer.

She wouldn't have made it to the car before she broke down.

And she didn't cry in front of anyone.

Slowly, Rick approached the door and knocked softly. "Beckett," he started. On the other side, he could hear a quiet whimpering. "Kate? Kate is that you?" He went ahead and pushed open the door. All the stalls were open except for one with the sound of Beckett sniffling. He locked the bathroom door behind him and his shoes squeaked as the approached the door.

It was unlocked.

On the inside was a sight he never thought he would witness. Kate had her hands pressed into her eyes, her knees drawn up to her chest, and she was rocking back and forth. He swallowed, feeling his mouth and throat dry at the sight. "Kate."

He sat down next to her. He smelled the stench of vomit in the toilet and he reached over her, flushing it. The whirling of the water was loud and echoed throughout the room. When he looked back down, Kate had moved her hands so they were linked in front of her shins and her cheek was resting on her kneecaps. "Thanks," she said.

Her eyes were red with puffy bags underneath them; her mascara was running black tears down her cheeks. She was shaking quietly, her lip trembling wildly. "I'm sorry," he told her, not knowing what else to say. The tears came down silently, pooling a large wet spot on her dress pants.

"I'm so sorry, Kate."

She gasped and then started to sob. He couldn't take this. As she buried her head back into her knees to hide her face from him, he scooted so he was sitting flesh against her. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight against him, so tight it hurt.

For what seemed like hours, they sat there like that. As her sobs increased, he squeezed her tighter, hoping the pressure would help, though he knew it wouldn't. She was quiet after some time and Rick let go of her, giving her space and letting her breathe.

Slowly, she let her legs fall flat on the floor. Her hands rested in her lap, her palms staring up at the ceiling like she asking for something. She turned her head and her deep green eyes met his blue ones and suddenly felt like he was at the top of a mountain. He could either stumble back down or he could leap off the other side.

Either way, the bottom wasn't in sight.

"Thank you," she said and rested her palm onto his cheek. "Rick, sometimes, I just don't know what I did before you were my partner."

He smiled and leaned closer. Her breathing was shaky, cheeks like concrete after a rainstorm. He kissed her on the cheek. "I know what you mean," he told her.

"No, I don't think you do," she said. "Rick. I think I—"

Kate's phone rang loudly, breaking the spell.

It was Esposito. "Espo," she said. "What do you want?"

There was a mumbling on the other end and Beckett's face paled once more. She looked at Rick. "He's asking for me, Rick. The murderer." Rick felt his eyes widen, the dry air sucking out all the water; he blinked heavily. "Put him through."

She dropped the phone down so it was resting between the two of them. She clicked the speaker button as Esposito put their killer through. "Hello, Johanna," his slimy voice rang. "Did you get my message?"

Rick looked at Kate. No longer was the grieving girl from before – now, Detective Beckett had returned with full force. Her face was solid, without tears or even the tracks of mascara.

"Yes, we did," she said.

There was a pause.

Rick could hear the smile. "Good. I've left the second part of my message at the amusement park. One your mother took you to when you were a child. What was your favorite ride, again? The merry-go-round? Well, a gift has been prepared for you."

Kate asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Johanna," he said. "You already know that, don't you? You'll save me, won't you?"

The phone went dead.

* * *

><p>"I know her," she said.<p>

The woman was young, blond, with blue eyes staring at the top of the carrousel. "Her name is Michelle Lewis," Ryan offered, reading off the I.D. from her purse. "She's secretary at a law firm in Brooklyn. Long way from home."

Rick looked at Kate with concern. "Who is she?" he asked her.

"Michelle Lewis," she repeated softly. "Where does she work again?"

Ryan said, "She _was_ a secretary at a law firm."

Kate gasped. "She worked with my mom."

"She did?" Esposito asked.

Lanie came up, clipboard and pen in hand. Rick shook his head, indicating to her not to say anything quite yet. She snapped her mouth shut and Kate continued to talk, not noticing Lanie's entrance, "She worked there when I was a kid," Kate said. "She was just an intern for my mom back then and she left after a year or so but… I remember her." Her eyes were far away. "She used to give me these chocolates that I could never find at any store."

Rick smiled, thinking of a younger Kate with long braids and bright green eyes, scouring the stores looking for the chocolates she could never replicate.

Sensing the story was over, Lanie started talking about what killed her. She talked about the four bullet holes in her chest, about the blood loss, about how long she had been like that. But Rick wasn't listening to that. Instead, he was listening to Kate mumble, "How did he find her? Why _her_?"

There was another ring on her phone. She picked it up, still staring glassy-eyed at her mother's dead secretary. "Beckett," she said.

It was him, Rick knew.

She hung up the phone a moment later. "What did he want?" he asked.

"He said he left me a package… at work."

* * *

><p>Rick turned on the sirens to speed through the streets so they could get back to the Precinct as quickly as possible. It had taken longer than he wanted to go but there had been two accidents between the amusement of Beckett's childhood and the garage under the Twelfth.<p>

They ran up the stairs, not bothering with the elevator. They burst into the bullpen. People were out for lunch or dinner or something (Rick wasn't sure what time it was) and the room was empty. The two people that were there didn't look up from their paperwork.

Kate's boots were loud on the floor as they sprinted to her desk.

"There's no body," Rick said, feeling a little giddy. "I guess that's good."

She huffed. "I guess."

They started to shuffle through the papers on her desk, looking for something that was misplaced or something that had been added since they had been here last. She was ripping open her doors when Rick slammed his hands down on his desk in frustration and looked over to his, sitting right across the way. On it was a copy of his first novel: _In Hail of Bullets_.

"Kate," he said.

He rushed over to the other side to his own desk and lifted up the book. "Kate!" he yelled. She looked up from her desk and to the book. "This wasn't here. I don't keep my books at work."

Slowly, she pushed in the drawers and walked over by him.

He flipped open the front cover. "To Johanna," he read. "I will kill before midnight unless you stop me."


	23. I Was Never a Scout

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 22 – "I Was Never a Scout"<em>

* * *

><p>At 11:55 that night, Kate stopped looking at the murder board.<p>

At 11:55, she stepped away from the images of Alex Peterman and Michelle Louis. She turned away from the evidence, the timeline, the images, and closed her eyes.

At 11:56, Kate clenched her fists together. He watched as her nails dug into her palms so hard it broke the skin. He could see that her eyes were glassed over with tears and she swallowed. She looked like she was going to be sick.

11:57.

11:58.

At 11:59, Rick stood up, worried because she hadn't moved. If it wasn't for her breathing in and out like she had just run a marathon, Rick would have thought she was dead. He walked over and he felt time slow down with each step he took.

At midnight, he thought maybe he heard the chiming of bells from a nearby church even though he hadn't ever heard them before. At midnight, he had just reached her side when Kate Beckett cried out and waved her forearms across her desk. Papers, pens, her elephant statue, her keyboard, and her used coffee mug went flying to the floor. Broken glasses spattered and the keyboard clanked loudly.

Rick's eye went wide and he immediately looked around to the rest of the Precinct. Everyone was gone, save for a few detectives. They were carefully looking at their paperwork, while staring at Kate in their peripheral vision. When he looked at Ryan and Esposito's desk, they were openly staring – eyes wide, mouths dropped, ears burning with embarrassment.

He looked back to her.

"Kate." Rick touched her arm softly and she ripped away from him.

"Don't," she whispered. He could hear the tears in her voice, the grief of loss, the pain of failure. "Don't touch me, Castle." Castle, he thought. She was pulling away. She was pulling away from him. He thought back to the woman he met just three months before – the one who told him of her mother's death like a little girl, like someone was still fighting to get over it. Someone innocent.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

He saw one tear fall and then she sniffed, took a deep breath, and her face was clean once more. H wanted to say more to her, anything to make her feel just a bit better, but he didn't have time. He had opened his mouth with her phone rang.

Her eyes zeroed in on the phone. He turned and she brushed passed him. She picked up the phone and said, "Beckett."

It was the murderer. On the other end of the phone. He could tell by the rage that flashed by her face, before briefness of fear, and then grief. He picked up the second phone and pressed close to his ear, feeling like it was his lifeline, the only safety he had after falling off the ship.

"You've really lost your touch, Johanna," the man said. Rick clenched his teeth, grinding the molars together like he was two years old again. "You saved me, Johanna, but you couldn't save her? That's very sad." There was a long pause. "But then again, you cared for me more. You didn't even know this woman. I understand now, not like it helps you."

He watched Kate's face crack under the mold of confidence she had placed not thirty seconds before. Every time the man said Johanna's name, he saw another rip in her mask.

"Where is she?"

Her voice was cold, hard, like ice.

"You'll know soon enough."

* * *

><p>The parking garage was empty.<p>

There was a large blood stain on the concrete. The woman who was hurt here was dead, wherever she was. Kate leaned over the stain with hard eyes and a deep frown. Her eyes were clear but she looked like she had been crying. She refused to ride over the crime scene together and he hadn't fought her because he knew that she needed that time alone.

To grieve.

To put that unbreakable face on.

It wasn't easy for Rick to see through her mask but he still could. He was used to studying her. The way her features moved from happy to sad to mad to turned on, the way her eyes shift over to him when he said something stupid, the way her lips quirked at one of his jokes.

He could see through this. He could see through this face she had on. This was the one who pretended she didn't care, that she wasn't fazed by death. This was the one she wore after he told her he loved her, the one he was sure that she wore after her mother's death just five years before.

"Kate," he said.

She glared at him.

"There's no one here, Beckett," Ryan said, "No body, no killer, no _one_."

She nodded. "Yeah, I gathered that."

There was another car that pulled up in the parking garage rather quickly. It skidded to a stop and Rick turned around just in time for the lights to go off and Captain Montgomery rushed out of the car. He jogged over to them and Kate stood up, turning away from the blood stain.

"Where's the body?" he practically yelled.

"Not here, sir," she said. "Just the blood. We don't believe the victim would have survived the attack with the amount of blood she lost."

"She?" he asked. "How do we know the victim's a she?"

Kate hesitated and said, "The suspect contacted me, sir. On my phone at the Precinct."

Montgomery raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms tightly. He ran his tongue over his front teeth and sighed. "God, this thing is spiraling out of control. Did he say anything that would lead us to where the _actual_ body is?"

Rick answered before Kate could, "No sir. He was rambling, sir, about our inability to stop him before his deadline."

"Okay," his captain replied. "Go home. All of you. We'll pick this up in the morning with fresh eyes." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. The stress was getting to Captain Montgomery – this was third body in less than 24 hours and he had authorities had to answer to. Just like Kate had her own demons and he had his family; Ryan and Esposito had their own lives and this murderer was toying with them, like he knew exactly what they were going to do.

He turned on his heel and walked back to his car.

"Sir," Kate said from beside him. "If you don't mind—"

Montgomery turned his head. "Nope, go home, Beckett," he said. "And _don't_ do anything stupid. And if you do, I will bump you to traffic for the next ten years."

Before they could say anything else, he was in his car and driving away, probably back to the Precinct to study the case documents for the rest of the night.

They watched him go. When Rick looked over to his partner, she was looking back behind her at the blood stain once more. For a long while, they stood there. People were putting up tape, medical examiners taking pictures and gathering samples. Finally, Ryan and Esposito were in their respective cars and driving out of the garage.

Soon, the only people left were Kate and him.

She blinked and sighed, turning around. She took a step towards her car and away from him. Rick felt his heart speed up. "I'm going home, Castle."

"Kate," he called out.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "What, Castle?"

"I'm coming with you."

Exasperated, she said, "What? No, Castle. I need to be alone right now."

She spun on her heel and walked over to her car. "Kate, wait!" he called out, jogging over to meet her. She fumbled with her keys and dropped them on the ground. She yelped out a curse, bent over to grab her keys and when she straightened, he had reached her side.

"Kate," he said, feeling out of breath.

She was biting her lip. She clicked the unlock button on her keypad and reached for the door handle. Suddenly furious, Rick grabbed her shoulder, turned her around, and slammed her up against the side of her car. She huffed loudly and he bent down to meet her eyes.

"Stop treating me like the bad guy," he whispered harshly.

"I'm not." She didn't meet his eyes. She looked over his shoulder, at his lips, to the ground but never looked at his eyes.

"You are," he said. "Look at me." He shook her once, hard. Her eyes were brown when she finally lifted them and he could see the tears filling. She was trying to get away. To cry. To grieve. To be alone.

She was always so alone.

"Let me take care of you, Kate," he told her. "Please." She shook her head slowly, her tears finally spilling over. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in. Her arms snaked around him and she pulled him even tighter. He felt like an anchor and she was the passenger lost at sea.

He wondered if they would find land.

He wiped tears from her eyes with his fingers. "You're an ugly crier, Kate," he said and she let out a cackle, using the back of her hand to wipe her nose and cheeks. He smiled at her and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'm so sorry, Kate," he told her. "We will fix this. Just not tonight, okay?"

She nodded.

"Okay."

She let go of him and he let go of her as well, feeling the moment had come to an end. She sniffled and rested her hand lightly on the car handle. "I guess I'll go home now."

He nodded and walked over to the other side of her car. He pulled the handle and frowned when it was locked. He looked over the hood and met her confused eyes. "I'm still going home alone, Rick." Rick, he thought, but refused to smile. "I don't want to be… _distracted_ tonight."

He smirked. "I'll be a good boy," he said.

"No, you won't."

"Scout's honor."

She got inside her car and shut the door behind her. He tried to the hand again, knowing it was locked, and he knocked on the window. "Beckett," he said loudly. "Let me in."

She gave him a look, put the keys in the ignition, turned the car, and drove away.

He shook his head and headed to his own car, and followed after her.

* * *

><p>In the end, he gave her an hour for herself.<p>

He had called his mother, giving her the details of the case, and told her that he would be staying at Beckett's. She said she had already assumed as much with that all-knowing voice of hers. He told her that she would be off for the next few days so she could go out with her man-friend and do all those things he did not want to talk about. After agreeing, she had hung up so she could put Alexis to bed.

After hanging up the phone, he ran by his bar and got a great bottle of wine that was almost ten years old. It was something he had been saving for a rainy day, and, after leaving the garage with a storm, he figured it was God telling him it was time.

At eleven, he was at Kate's apartment and knocking.

There was a long pause. He shifted his feet and tapped his fingers on the bottle, nervous. He was never nervous. He seemed to be a lot around Kate. Is this what being in love felt like, he wondered? Was it supposed to make one a ball of nerves and tension? He always pictured love, true love, with rainbows and sunshine, but this?

This was messy and painful. It was laughter and sex. It was spending time with Alexis and eating pizza at midnight. It was Chinese food. It was whispered conversations in the dark and taking showers together at dawn. It was nightmares and dreams. It was fear of the future, of what would happen if everything was ripped away.

The door flung open and the barrel of the gun was pointed into his face. He yelped and almost dropped the wine. He scrambled as the gun disappeared and Kate's confused face replaced it. "Castle, what are you doing here?"

He handed her the bottle of wine and shimmied passed her so he was into her apartment. "I'm not going to leave you alone," he said, falling back onto her couch. She was standing in the doorway, her mouth ajar, holding the wine bottle like it was a dead skunk, and giving him the strangest look.

He pointed to the door.

"You… might want to shut that door."

She blinked and seemed to go back to normal. She shook her head, shut the door and locked it behind her. She set her gun down on the table beside the door. "Castle, I said I don't want you here. I left you in the parking lot. Alone."

"Yeah, good plan," he said. He jumped up, taking the wine bottle from her hand, and brushed his hand gently across her cheek. "Leaving me alone when there's a mass murderer on the loose."

She glared at him.

"I needed space."

"You always need space."

"I like being alone."

He threw the wine onto the couch with remarkable aim. It bounced gently and settled in between the cushions. He turned back around to her and she opened her mouth to say something but he didn't let her. He took her mouth into his, forcing his tongue passed her lips and sweeping the inside.

She moaned and grabbed onto the sleeve of his button-up shirt. He grabbed her cheeks roughly and forced her back to the counter in her kitchen. They broke apart, breathing in deeply. Her eyes were dark, almost black in soft glow of the room and her cheeks were flushed, her lips already swollen.

"No one likes being alone," he said.

He ran his hands down her neck, her shoulders, and then settled them gently on her waist. He lifted her up onto the counter and wrapped her legs around his torso. Snaking her arms around his neck, she kissed him slowly on the lips. She worked her way down, across his jaw, and then his neck.

He closed his eyes, amazed at her control. All she normally wanted to do was rip clothes off and get the thing going. He was the one who liked to take it slow. But nothing about this relationship was slow. Nothing about this love was slow.

She gave him one last kiss on his collar bone and lifted her head, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. "I'm used to being alone." She paused. "I've been alone for a long time, Rick."

_Rick_.

"You don't have to be alone anymore, Kate."

She smiled at him and blushed, looking down in embarrassment. He smiled and leaned forward.

Against his lips, she whispered, "Do you promise?"

He kissed her slowly and said, "I promise."

"You said you'd be good."

She was smiling now.

He gave her a smirk.

"I was never a scout."


	24. And Never Came Out

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 23 – "And Never Came Out"<em>

* * *

><p>Rick had already looked through the refrigerator and the cabinets and in the pantry.<p>

The eggs were old and the bacon had something fuzzy on it. The only thing he had pulled out was a box of pancake mix, half-used, and a single glass cup for water. It was enough, he figured, for her. He wanted to get her something filling and healthy because today was going to be hard. But, since apparently she was used to eating take-out and the peanuts she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk, pancakes would have to do.

He had two pancakes resting on a paper plate when her bedroom door opened quietly. Her socked feet padded quietly on the hardwood as she quietly entered the kitchen. He looked up from the pan and gave her a wide smile. "Good morning," he said.

She blinked and stared at him, as if not remembering why he was here, and then it went back to the sleepy haze she had before. "Morning," she whispered and walked over to him. "What are you making?"

"Pancakes. You have no food in this house, Kate."

She shrugged, settling into her seat and resting her chin on the back of her hand. "I eat out a lot," she said.

"Figured," he replied. "Being a cop and all, we're notorious for grabbing pizza slices on the way home after the night shift."

"Or Chinese."

He hummed in agreement and finished up two more of the pancakes. He turned off the burner, moved the pan to one of the cooler, and set the plate in front of her. The syrup was already warmed and sitting next to her.

He turned around to grab coffee – something she had in abundance in the cabinet next to the coffee machine. He put in the right amount of cream and sugar and then carried it carefully over to her. After he set it down, it sloshed a little some of the liquid dripping to the counter. He cursed and was turning around to grab a washrag when her hand stopped him.

"Don't worry about it, Rick," she said. She smiled sweetly. "Everything looks great. Perfect."

He gave her a smile back and felt heat creep up on the back of his neck. God, he would be thirty in a year and he was still blushing like he did when he was fourteen and Mandy Simpson asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance. But there was something about Kate that did that to him. He felt like he was falling in love all over again, like this was the first time.

All the relationships before were based on sex and how quickly he lost his patience. But this one wasn't like that. There was sex, sure. And kissing. And fighting – lots of fighting. But this was the first woman he felt like Alexis would look up to. This was the first woman since Mandy Simpson that made him blush and forget what to say. This relationship was all about patience. About giving and taking. About compromise.

This was the first woman he felt he was falling _in_ love with. All the other women, all the other relationships, had nothing to do with love. It was lust and it was heat and it was amazing, but it wasn't anything that lasted. That was apparent by the list of women he had filed under the "Ex" contact list and his failed marriage.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the corner of the mouth. He tasted the syrup on her lips and she yelped, not expecting it, and coughed as she choked in surprise. She looked over to him with disbelief but his face must have been shining because she didn't even look mad.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much for last night." She bit her lip and Rick watched her, feeling the crackling spark of love race through his body. "And for this morning." She laughed. "And breakfast."

"You're welcome."

She leaned forward and kissed him slowly, tenderly. He didn't move to touch her and she kept her hand tightened around her fork. When she was done she licked her lips and gave him a quick peck and then one more and one after that.

"The only thing that would make this more perfect is the morning paper."

He smiled. "Ah, I forgot."

He headed to the door while Kate called out, "I just wish we didn't have a case. I wish we didn't have a missing body. I wonder where he would take her. Where he's planning on putting her."

Rick hadn't even thought about the case all morning. He was still reeling from their night and their morning and the kisses, the words, the blissful sleep with her body next to his, that he hadn't thought about the woman missing, the bloodstain in the parking lot, the thunderstorm washing over the New York streets.

"Me too," he said mournfully and unlocked the door.

He swung it open and felt something cold and stone-like fall onto his foot. He glanced down at the object and then did a double-take. Gasping, he moved his foot away from the person lying dead in the hallway. Her hazel, unseeing eyes stared up at him and for a second, he thought maybe it was Johanna Beckett. But it wasn't.

It was their missing body. Their victim.

In her crossed arms was the daily paper.

* * *

><p>"The victim's name was Sandra Keller. The bullets in her chest spelled 'Burn.'"<p>

_Johanna will burn._

Rick was trying to focus on Esposito but it was difficult when he was sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Kate Beckett. She was stiff and unmoving against him. He suppressed the urge to rub her shoulders to relieve some of the tension. She felt like a statue.

Like Sandra Keller, their bloodstain – their victim.

Like she was dead.

"She worked as a judge for about ten years, starting around the time your mom started as the DA, Beckett." He felt her shudder and he uncrossed his arms, resting one of them on the top of her hand that was gripping the side of her desk. She glanced at him through the fan of her hair and he swallowed, giving her just the slightest shake of his head.

_Don't make a big deal out of it, Beckett_.

"She retired about three years ago. She was leaving her daughter's apartment complex when he must have grabbed her." He added, "I'm sorry, Beckett."

She shook her head.

She finally asked, "Why is he targeting me? My mother?"

The captain shifted his feet in front of him. "I'm sorry, Detective," he told her, his dark eyes reflecting the sadness Kate refused to show. "It sounds to me like he knew your mother. He must have known your mother. He's targeted people that you know. Michelle Lewis, your mom's secretary. Alex Peterman, someone who graduated with your mother."

When was that a development? Rick wondered but didn't ask. Damn, he had been out of it, thinking about Kate and him. What would happen once this case was over? What would happen ten years from now? What would happen when they caught this guy?

"No one would know this unless they knew her and knew what to look for. A nameplate from the lady who takes her calls. A program to a college reunion. He must have been obsessed with her from the start."

Kate bit her lip.

"Was she working on any cases before she was killed, Kate?" Rick asked quietly, hoping no one caught the fact that he wasn't calling her Beckett. But she didn't need to be put at arm's distance right now – screw the rules, he thought. They already had. In more ways than one.

"Of course she was," she whispered. "She had about five ongoing. A restraining order, a murder case, and a few more. I don't remember them all. I've put that away since…"

Since she fell into the rabbit hole.

"Anywhere Keller was presiding?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"Well, if she did we need those names," Esposito said. "I'll go check it out. It had to be someone around then, Beckett. Maybe this is the person who knows something about her murder."

The phone rang and the tension was sliced through as if with a knife. For a second, they thought maybe it was their killer, calling her about another body. Another life she could blame herself for. But when her face relaxed and she talked easily, he felt like he was finally able to breathe again.

It seemed the other guys did too. He looked up to them and Esposito was running his hand along the top of his head and Ryan was fanning himself with a file folder. He met his captain's eyes and for a moment, the newspaper article and all the broken rules fell away; for a moment, it was just a captain and a partner concerned about a detective they both cared about.

Kate hung up the phone and looked at her guys. "Esposito," she said. "Go, check out those names. Ryan, call Keller's family and break the news. Rick and I—" She coughed. "Castle and I will go get my mom's murder files from my apartment and go through them."

* * *

><p>The sun was setting outside when Rick set down his Lo Mein noodles from the Chinese restaurant down the street. Beckett was still working on her white rice but her eating was unenthusiastic and she hadn't even touched her Cashew Chicken.<p>

The file folders spread out across the coffee table. Rick was flipping through pictures of Kate ice skating. "You look so cute," he told her, pausing at one of her and her mother laughing as they attempted to skate.

"Yeah," she said, smiling a bit. "That was about two weeks before she died. God, I look so young." She frowned, taking the pictures from him. "I can't believe that was only five years ago. I've aged so fast."

He smiled. "You haven't, Kate. You're not aging, you're just worn."

She glared at him. "Thanks."

"No!" he said. "That's not what I meant. I meant that you've lived a life most people haven't at that age. You were only nineteen, Kate. And you're only twenty-four now."

She looked back down at the pictures. "I really miss her," she said. "It's worse when I don't talk about her. And I never talk about her."

He whispered, "I would love to know about her."

"Why?" she said, her eyes darkening to a glare. "Character research?"

He was offended. "No," he said, trying to control his anger. "That's not it." He touched Kate's shoulder gently. When she shrugged him off, he whispered angrily, "Kate. I want to help you. Why are you pushing me away?"

She slammed her hands down on the coffee table. It rattled and pictures fell off on either side as did her glass of wine. The glass shattered and the wine ran like blood on the hardwood. She scrambled to her feet, stepping away from him. "Because I was finally getting on track before you showed up," she said. "I…"

He got to his feet, walking so he was a foot in front of her. "You, what?" he said.

"I," her face faltered. "I put my mom's case away. I wasn't going to fall again And then you showed up. Asking questions. Wanting to know about me." She took a deep breath. "I lost control. I keep trying to put it back together and it keeps falling apart. No matter how hard I try, I can never block her."

This was it, he thought. This was the end. This was when she pulled way.

God, he didn't want this to be it.

He shook his head. "What are you trying to put back together?"

"My life!" she yelled, pointing to herself. "Because this is _my_ life!" She backed away from him slowly. She had tears like streaks down her face. She was breaking down – her wall was crumbling, falling to ash through her fingertips and she had no idea how to stop it.

"You don't know me. You think you do, but you don't."

Rick felt his throat clog with sadness, despair, and pain. She was lying to him and she was lying to herself. They had been together for months now – he thought they were going somewhere. God, he thought she was different.

He yelled, "I don't know you? What do you mean? I know you, Kate. I know you crawled inside your mother's murder and never came out. I know you hide there, just like you're always hiding from me. From us. From what we could be. You could be happy, Kate. You would be happy with me. "

"Do you know what we are, Castle?" she said. "We are over. Now get out."

He thought she was different.

But she wasn't.

Once again, he had given his heart away too soon.

* * *

><p>Esposito called when Rick got into his car, slamming the door shut. He sighed as the rain water dripped down his neck. He took a deep breath and answered, "Yo, Esposito."<p>

He put the keys in the ignition, starting it up. Turning up the heat, he breathed into his hands to warm them up. November was always chilly in New York City. But tonight felt especially cold.

"Hey," Esposito called back as Rick pulled out of the parking garage, turning right so he was going away from home and towards the Precinct. "We need you and Beckett back here. We got him, Castle."

Twenty minutes ago, the call would have been a relief. It would have been happy tears and hugging and kissing. It would have been smiles and radiant eyes and happy memories. But now, in the dark and the rain, it was just one more reason for Kate to walk away.

Because nothing was keeping them together.

Because after this case, he was gone.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Ben Conrad," Esposito said. "He was on trial for harassing the personal injury lawyer, Alex Peterman. He had a dog that was killed by a hit and run driver. He wanted to sue but Peterman wouldn't take the case. He was outraged – beat the guy to a bloody pulp."

"Did he kill Johanna?"

Up ahead of him, the light turned red and he came to a slow halt.

Esposito sighed, "He was in prison when her mother was stabbed. He just got out three weeks ago. There was no way he did it." Rick could hear the frustration in his voice. "The sooner we put him away, the sooner Beckett can put this thing behind her."

Rick tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to turn green.

"Yeah," he replied, his mind distant – thinking about the dinner they had after the trial, when she told him that she liked him. That seemed like such a long time ago.

"I'll text you the address of his apartment," Esposito said after a long pause. "We'll meet you there."

The light turned green.

"I'll be there."

* * *

><p>Seeing Kate on the scene was strange.<p>

For a second, he had forgotten their argument, their breakup. She looked the same as she always did except for her long hair wet from the downpour. She was talking to Esposito and Ryan when he approached and when she looked at him, and reality came crashing down on him again.

She was no longer "Kate."

It was just "Beckett" now.

"Ready?" Ryan asked.

Rick strapped the sides of the bullet-proof vest he had thrown on before walking over to the scene. Around him, SWAT personnel were rushing around with their guns and their shields and their protection. Captain Montgomery was talking to what seemed to be the leader over all of the members.

"Yes," he looked directly at Kate, who stared at him with hard eyes. "Let's go get this son of a bitch."

* * *

><p>Cramming themselves on the stairway to the second floor because the elevator was broken was one of the most awkward experiences of Rick's life. He had to stand flesh with Beckett on one side and a six-foot-nine SWAT member on the other.<p>

When they reached the top of the stairs, he took a couple of deep breaths, tying to refocus. Trying to bury his grief for when he finally went home. For when he could pour himself a Scotch and drown his sorrows until the morning.

"You coming?" she asked him, giving him one of her emotionless stares.

He nodded, not bothering to answer, not knowing what to say.

He walked just a few steps behind her. At the apartment door, he leaned up against the doorjamb, his gun pulled up close to his face. Esposito stood behind him, his gun loosely at his side. Ryan stood next to Kate.

She knocked on the door.

"Ben Conrad!" she said. "This is the NYPD. Open the door."

There wasn't an answer.

She pounded.

"Conrad, open the door!"

No answer.

She looked at Esposito first and then to Rick. Her eyes lingered there and for a second, he saw the flash of her pain, her grief before it was clouded with indifference. Then, without any more warning for that, she lifted her leg and kicked in the door.

The hinge ripped the doorjamb on her side off of the wall, leaving a splintering mess behind. They quickly rushed inside the apartment. Esposito and several SWAT members took off to the back room to check for anyone else but there really wasn't a reason to.

Because in the middle of the floor was Ben Conrad with a gun in his head and half his brains on the floor.


	25. The Killer's Still Alive

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 24 – "The Killer's Still Alive"<em>

* * *

><p>Alexis was sleeping soundly when Rick walked into the apartment at ten that night.<p>

His mother was watching an old black-and-white movie, something Rick didn't recognize, with Alexis's head resting in her lap and playing lightly with the tips of her red hair. He walked up to the armrest of the couch and sat down, wrapping his arm gently around his mother's shoulder, squeezing it tight.

She looked up from her movie and gave Rick a small smile.

"How are you, Mother?" he asked.

She sighed and glanced down at Alexis, brushing her hair back from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. "She's getting so big, Richard," he said. "It feels like yesterday I held her in the hospital. That little bundle of pink and that bright patch of red hair." She chuckled and Rick smiled down at his baby girl, who was almost six. _Six_.

"I know," he said.

She said, "She misses you, Rick. She loves spending time with Grams, but, she really does miss you. She keeps talking about summer when you were home all the time. She misses her mommy too but she doesn't say that as often. Mostly you."

Rick felt his throat drop to the pit of his stomach. Great – not only did their killer commit suicide but Kate broke up with him and now his mother was giving him a guilt-trip.

"Mother, this really isn't want I need to hear right now."

"I know, darling, but—"

She gave him one of those looks. One of those looks that said she knew everything. She may not have known _exactly_ what had happened but she knew enough. Enough to know that Rick was hurting deeply.

"Mother…"

"Rick, stay home tomorrow," she said. "Stay home and spend some time with your daughter. This case has taken over your life. I'm not saying it isn't important but you need a break."

He rubbed his eyes, feeling the back of his throat burn. He really didn't need this talk right now. All he wanted to do was kiss his daughter goodnight, pop open the bottle of Scotch he had in the bottom drawer of his desk, and drink until he couldn't remember Kate Beckett or Ben Conrad or Richard Castle anymore.

"It doesn't matter because the case is over," he said. "We found the guy."

His mother pursed her lips. "Did he confess?"

"He's dead."

There was a long pause. He listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall and the cars honking down in the New York traffic. He watched outside the window to the night sky, clouded by the smog of the city. He had always wanted to take Alexis outside the city to an open patch of wilderness somewhere and stare up at the stars until they couldn't keep their eyes open any longer.

Finally, his mother patted his leg and squirmed out from under Alexis's sleeping head. The girl muttered something that sounded like "Cotton candy" and then turned over and continued her sleep. She stood up and stretched.

Rick bent down and picked up Alexis. Her head lolled on his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her tightly against him. It wasn't until that moment when he realized how much he missed his little girl. Women would come and go – girlfriends, partners, wives – but his little girl would always remain the same.

She would always love him.

He walked toward the staircase, rubbing Alexis's back gently, listening to the sound of her snotty breathing. She sounded like she was catching a cold. Maybe tomorrow he would take her to the doctor to get her checked out. Afterwards, they could maybe watch a movie. There had to be some Disney movie playing.

"Oh, Rick."

He stopped short at the edge of the staircase.

Turning his head, his mother said, "She asks about Katie sometimes too."

And with that, she was gone.

She always did have the last word.

* * *

><p>Later that night, Rick had his laptop open on a blank document.<p>

In front of that rested the open file of Ben Conrad. He had pictures of the man throughout his lifetime – a graduation photo, one taken inside a bar, a couple of his mug shots, and, finally, his dead bloodied body. Rick sighed, picking up the graduation photo.

With thick black hair and dark brown eyes, Ben Conrad had once been an attractive, swarthy human being. How did people have so much promise at their graduation and somehow lose it all soon afterwards? This man wasn't much older than him – and while Conrad had once had this promising look that Rick never had.

He tossed the picture on the table and grabbed for his glass of scotch. This was his third glass and while he didn't feel drunk – he felt tired and depressed and grief ran through his blood instead of alcohol. He had wanted to drink to forget Kate Beckett but the alcohol only amplified is new-found loneliness.

Shaking his head, he took another swig of drink, finishing it off, and looked back down to the pictures. It doesn't make sense – the ending of this case was not right. There was no way a case like this would end up so neatly, wrapped up in a little box with a bow on top.

He bit his tongue, hovering over the files, trying to ease his mind. He had just sighed again and leaned back on the couch when the doorbell rang. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that it was a little past midnight. Who would be at the door at this hour?

Not bothering with the files, he shuffled to the door and didn't bother with the peephole, opening it widely.

On the other side was Gina, giving him a dirty look.

"What?" he asked.

She glared at him and huffed, shoving her way past him. "It's been three weeks, Mr. _Castle_," she sneered, her shoes clacking loudly as she made her way across the hardwood floor. Rick breathed deeply and quietly closed the door behind him. Leaning up against it, he rested his back on the door, not wanting to hear this tonight.

After a long silence, he finally looked at Gina. She biting her tongue, trying to contain he anger that is oozing out of every pour on her body. "Rick," she said in a deathly-calm voice. "I'm trying to reasonable here. But you're six weeks late on your manuscript. I have to have something. Anything to run by Black Pawn. They're pissed."

He ran a hand through his hair, walking passed her and into the living room. "I know, Gina," he replied. "It's just with this case—"

She stepped in front of him, slapping his shoulder. "No more excuses, Rick," she said. "None. I'm not buying them anymore." Rick tried to say something, anything, to get her to understand. "I saw the paper. I know you've caught the killer. _'Detective Beckett and Rick "Castle" Rodgers catch serial killer Ben Conrad_.'" She bit her lip. "Rick, you knew when you had your first book published that it would be hard to handle both jobs. You did it well for awhile…"

"But?"

"But," she tilted her head, giving the floor and awkward glance. She looked up into his eyes and he could no longer see the seething anger. Instead, desperation took its place. She needed him to finish a manuscript. Hell, even a sentence would be nice.

"It's not working anymore, Rick. You have to choose. You have to choose Rick Castle or Rick Rodgers. You can't be both."

_You can't be both._

The thought struck him.

He glanced passed Gina's shoulder and down to the strewn-out photos and papers of the Conrad case. His eyes focused on the picture of what was left of Ben Conrad's head, the gun settled in his right hand. He remembered something, then, something from Conrad's description.

"That's not right…" he muttered.

"What?" Gina asked. "What's not right? Rick?" She pushed his shoulder, snapping him out of the trance he had been under. His eyes focused back on her and he glanced back again at the documents. "What's not right?" she asked again.

"This… this case," he said, hastily sitting down on his couch.

He heard Gina sigh and mumble, "So much for making a decision." Then she sat down next to him, pushing all other feelings aside. She gave him a look. "What's going on, Rick?"

He showed her the picture. Her pale skin turned a minty shade of green and she looked suddenly seasick. He had forgotten she wasn't used to looking at pictures of dead bodies. While he teetered the line of reality and fiction, she was only living in the worlds her authors created for her. She wasn't used to seeing the gruesomeness of the real thing.

"It's different," he said, "when you see it right in front of you."

She gave him a grateful look. Despite their differences, he and Gina were close. He never would have agreed to the contracts, books on the line or not, if he absolutely despised her. There was once a time he thought maybe something would become of them but then he met Detective Beckett.

_Kate_.

His eyes widened and he looked back at the picture.

"Ben Conrad," he explained. "He wasn't right-handed, he was left-handed. The medical examiners said that he had killed himself. How could he have done that with his right hand?" He looked up at Gina.

Her face was horror-struck.

"If he had help," she offered quietly.

Suddenly, Rick was on his feet. "I need you to stay here," he said to her. "I need you to watch Alexis. I have to – I have to…"

Suddenly, he remembered back to the crime scene. He remembered the bomb Ben Conrad had put together, the creepy voice that shouted: _Johanna will burn. Johanna will burn. Johanna will burn._

Kate.

_Kate will burn._

"Kate," he said, feeling sick to his stomach.

Gina understood. "Go," she said. "I'll call Captain Montgomery. Go to her, Rick."

He nodded, grabbed his phone and keys, and was out the door.

* * *

><p>"You've reached Detective Kate Beckett. I can't come to the phone—"<p>

"Shit!" he yelled, reaching his car. It was third time he had called in the past minute and she wasn't answering him. What a day for a breakup, he thought bitterly, fumbling with his keys. Finally sticking them in the ignition, he was out of the parking garage with the siren on before he could even process the horrible thought.

He swallowed bile.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered, glancing down at his phone.

He called her again.

It rang.

And rang.

"You've reached Detective Kate—"

Some dick in front of him decided to not pull over when the sirens were going and he nearly rear-ended him. He honked wildly as he passed him going nearly sixty on the forty-mile street. The man flipped him off as he had to come to a dead-stop to get out of Rick's way.

He could arrest him for that, technically, but he didn't have time to stop.

The rain beat against the windshield, making it hard to see. The New York lights usually helped but this night it didn't. It was pitch-black in the sky and the rain made everything blurry. The lights hurt his eyes. They made everything look like it was glowing. He honked at a few pedestrians who were jay-walking.

God, why did all the idiots decide to come out on the street tonight?

He called her again.

"You've reached Detective Kate Beckett. I can't come to the phone right now so please leave your name, number, and message and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks." The phone beeped and he yelled, "Kate, for the love of God, answer your phone. Answer it, dammit!"

He clicked it off, throwing it on the passenger street.

Flying through a red light, he pounded his fist on the dashboard. "Dammit!" he yelled, feeling the tears prickling his eyes. He was going to throw up. He was going to cry. It had been almost six years when he cried last – the first time he held his baby girl.

He looked over and reached for his phone, trying a sharp corner. A few honks followed him and he brushed them off, calling her again.

"Rick, look—"

She answered.

Oh, God.

"Kate," he said, breathless. "Kate, Ben Conrad's not the killer. He's not the killer, Kate!"

He was three blocks from her apartment.

Three blocks.

"What are you talking about?"

"He's not the killer, Kate," he repeated, seeing her apartment building in the distance.

Two blocks.

"Someone set Conrad up," he told her. "Conrad was left-handed, not right-handed. The killer's still alive, Kate! He's still alive."

One block.

He heard her gasp and something dropped onto the ground. "Kate?" he yelled. "_Kate_—"

In the distance there was a deafening silence and then an explosion. Rick came to a dead halt, his car screeching on the wet road. Flames roared to the sky, like the mane of a lion. Kate's apartment building was on fire. Where her apartment had been ten seconds before was now gone. Rubble fell to the ground and Rick could hear pedestrians screaming and crying out.

He jumped out of his car and took off to the building.

"Kate!" he screamed, knowing she couldn't hear him.

She couldn't hear him.

She was gone.

She had to be gone.

No one could have survived that.

He ran, his arms pumping, his breath short with each step. He let the tears fall down his cheeks, the rain disguising them as soon as they escaped his eyes.

The last time he cried, he had never been happier in his whole life. He could still remember the fuzzy cotton blanket that held his tiny daughter, almost four weeks early. He could still feel the soft patch of bright red hair of his beautiful little girl. He could still remember when she woke up, looking at him with her piercing blue eyes.

This time was different.

The grief that washed over him was worse than the pouring rain.

It was like standing underneath the Niagara Falls.

It was crushing.

It made his heart stop, his breathing halt.

In front of him, the flames shot out higher, mocking the rain that tried – and failed – to bring it down.


	26. Someone Always Has To Die

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 25 – "Someone Always Has to Die"<em>

* * *

><p>By the time Rick was to the second floor, he was already woozy from the amount of smoke he was breathing.<p>

Residents of the building were scrambling by him, shoving him and yelling when he didn't turn around and run with the herd.

He had someone to find.

The fire overtook everything in its path. The once obnoxious red floral carpet was now ruined from trampling feet, fire, and smoke. He ducked under a fallen panel and jogged down the hall to reach Kate's apartment.

The door was leaning on the opposite wall, the explosion sending it flying backwards.

He wondered if he would even find her body.

"Kate?" he asked with fear lacing his voice. He stepped over rumble in the front door and the sight in front of him had him gagging. The couch he had thrown the wine bottle on just two nights before was on fire, the flames reaching the ceiling. The kitchen area was smoldering, smoke black as night. The floor under his feet was a pile of destruction and hopelessness.

"Kate!" he called, looking to the back of the room. There were two door firmly attached – the bathroom and her bedroom. He jogged to the bathroom when something fell heavily on the other side. "Kate!"

He tried to open the door but it didn't budge. He jiggled the handle and then grunted, backing up. He took a couple of steps and rammed his shoulder into it. The hinges snapped and he tumbled inside the room. There was a shriek and he looked up, blowing away the dust that was covering his vision. In front of him stood a naked Kate Beckett, smudged and dirty and beautiful.

And alive. So, so alive.

She gasped and crouched back down into the tub. "Don't look at me!" she said.

"Why?" he asked. He struggled to his feet, stumbling when he finally stood. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before."

She turned her head just enough to glare at him but her hands remained in front of the parts she didn't want him to see. Instead of answering she reached out a hand. "Hand me a towel, Castle."

_Castle_, he thought. At least there was some normalcy left in their relationship. Maybe something could still be salvaged. He looked over to the towel rack, thinking about how he had pulled one of them into the shower for her after he had finished "scrubbing her back."

"Uh," he said, "the towels are on fire."

She huffed. "My robe?"

He turned around.

"On fire."

"Hand me your coat then."

"Oh, right." He shrugged off his coat, reaching behind his back to give it to her. The tub squeaked as she pulled the coat on. When he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, he finally looked over to her. Her hair was pulled back, long strands falling out of the bun. Her pupils were dilated and there was a long cut stretching up her cheek. She had smudges all over from the smoke and ash of her ruined apartment.

Gently, he took her hand and helped her from the tub.

"Easy," he said as she hissed in pain.

"I'm fine," she replied stubbornly.

They were halfway across the bathroom when Rick looked down to her bare feet. Her living room was littered with broken glass, burning pieces of furniture, and other mysterious items. He said, "You can't walk across that room."

She glanced down at her own feet and winced. "Are you offering to carry me?" she replied with a smirk. "Because that would be highly inappropriate."

He couldn't tell if she was being suggestive, sarcastic, hopeful, or a combination of all three.

"I'll carry you to the front entrance," he suggested. "That way, hopefully no one will see."

He saw her swallow and then looked at him. "That's fine," she muttered and took a deep breath. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he bent down, sliding his hands under her knees. He lifted her up and immediately, she rested her head on his chest.

As he made his way across the room, he could feel Kate's breath through his t-shirt. It was hot and he could feel wetness leaking through as well. She was crying.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he told her.

He heard her sniffle, the tears ceasing.

At the door to her apartment, she lifted her head and looked behind him, staring at her burning home. Rick licked his lips, feeling her grief in his bones. So many memories, lost because they thought the case was through. Furniture, paintings, even clothes could be replaced but photographs, knickknacks, and other things she held dear – they were gone.

* * *

><p>When they reached the entrance of the apartment building, he gently set her down on her feet.<p>

Together, they limped outside where photographers, police men, medical examiners, residents, and pedestrians were waiting for them.

"Mr. Castle, what happened here?" one reporter screamed.

"Detective Beckett, did Mr. Castle save you from the destruction of your apartment building?" another asked suggestively, shoving the microphone to her face.

"Detective Beckett!" another asked. Rick looked at him: greasy-looking, skinny, with short brown hair and guarded brown eyes. He was grinning, like this explosion was a gift sent from above. "Does this explosion have anything to do with the Conrad case?" Rick felt his temperature rise and he fought the urge to punch the man in the face.

Kate paled suddenly and Rick squeezed his arm tighter around her back. He forced himself through the horde, screaming, "No questions! We have nothing to say. Detective Beckett needs medical assistance." The man who asked about the Conrad case blocked his way to freedom. He looked him straight in the eye and said, "Move, or I will arrest you for harassing an officer." Then, he shoved him in the shoulder, knocking the man aside.

Lanie was waiting at the ambulance, looking shocked, confused, and, most of all, fear. When she saw them, her face morphed to relief and she came running. "Kate!" She helped Rick carry Kate to the ambulance. They sat her down on the bumper and she sighed with relief.

"Girl you scared me," Lanie chided, checking her over.

"What happened?" Lanie asked after putting a few butterfly Band-Aids on the cut across her cheek. She moved onto the cut on Kate's shoulder.

"I was taking a shower and…" Kate blinked heavily and looked up to Rick, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "And Rick called. He saved me."

Rick swallowed, too many emotions coming to the surface at once. Was he forgiven? He wondered. Did he finally do something right in this relationship? He felt a squeeze on his palm. Before he had thought about it, he had reached for her hand. She was holding it gently, wincing a little at the alcohol Lanie was pouring on her arm.

He gave her a small smile, not trusting himself to talk, afraid of what he'd say.

"We found a faulty room in Conrad's apartment."

* * *

><p>It was several hours later, something like four in the morning.<p>

Alexis was sleeping on the couch in Captain Montgomery's office. Rick had picked her up after the fiasco at Kate's apartment. She had been sleeping soundly and continued to do so, even as Rick moved her from her room, to the car, out to the frigid cold and finally to the Precinct. Gina had gone home after she gotten the answers she demanded.

She gave him another extension on his manuscript.

Three more weeks.

Around Christmastime.

And then the funds would be cut off. Negotiations would have to be made. He may even have to break his contract, putting him in a world of debt.

He put that thought to the back of his mind, however, and focused on the case.

"So, our killer – our _real_ killer – was in the room the whole time?" Kate's voice brought him out of his stupor. "He was watching us _the whole time_?" Her voice was like ice and fire all at once.

Esposito shrugged. Ryan kicked the floor with his big toe, like he was embarrassed.

It was embarrassing, Rick thought. They thought the case was done, the killer caught. Then they turn around and their partner's apartment has blown up, there's a faulty room in the room they thought had been the killer, and what's worse?

The killer was in the freaking room when they had been in there.

At least thirty people were in the room and he had been there the whole time, watching.

"Beckett!" Captain Montgomery called from his office. Their captain had been on the phone for hours, talking to everyone from reporters to residents of Beckett's building, to his wife calling, to his superiors. He wasn't a very happy man.

To say the least.

Kate closed her eyes, puffed out her cheeks, and sighed.

She pushed herself off the top of her desk and brushed by Rick. He shivered, and then looked at guys to make sure they hadn't noticed. They had, and were both smirking at him. He glared, and they chuckled quietly.

When the door shut behind her, he said, "So, why would our killer assume the identity of Ben Conrad?"

Ryan shrugged. "Conrad was an easy target?"

Esposito suggested, "He had a grudge against him?"

Castle pursed his lips, glanced back at the office. Inside, Beckett was holding what looked like a flask. She was pissed off and tired. She needed to sleep. Hell, they all needed to sleep. He looked back to the guys. They were smirking again.

He rolled his eyes and then they all looked at the board.

After a while, he said, "It had to be someone he knew. Maybe not someone he wronged somehow. Just someone he knew. Randomly."

"Bro," Esposito said. "We were inside his apartment. No family photographs hanging on the walls. No photo albums. Nothing. He was a loner. The only sense of personality in the whole places was the Nets poster on the wall. He didn't even have a TV."

Rick's eyes widened. "That's it!" he said. "He didn't have a TV, so where would he go?"

Ryan offered, "A local bar?"

"Exactly!" Rick grinned. "He would have to go to the bar to watch the game. He could meet anyone there. Anyone at all. Two guys without TVs. Coming to catch a game. But then they start talking. Start talking about where they've been wronged. Maybe they mention the personal injury lawyer, the secretary that was rude to them, the judge presiding their case. Maybe they have a common person to hate."

"That's a lot of maybes." Esposito dead-panned.

"It's better than nothing," Ryan said. "We'll check it…" He glanced outside to the rising sun. "Um, we'll check in a few hours. But first you need to go home. Take your daughter home. Get some rest. We'll call you when we need you."

Rick yawned and then nodded.

He pushed himself off of the desk and patted Ryan on the back, headed to the break room. He heard Esposito say in a song-like voice, "You might want to take Beckett home too. She might want to rest too."

Rick didn't even give him the satisfaction of looking.

He flipped him off instead.

* * *

><p>Alexis's head lolled on his shoulder, drool seeping through the collar of his shirt and onto his skin. Meh, he thought, it was better than when she used to spit-up down his shirt. He'd take drool over that stuff any day.<p>

Kate was headed to the elevator when it dinged open. He walked inside, keeping the elevator open with his foot until she got inside. "Thanks," she mumbled and headed to the opposite side of the space. Away from him.

"No problem."

For a second, they stood in an awkward silence.

"What did—" he started.

"Th—" she said.

He laughed, shifting Alexis gently. She muttered something her sleep, smacked her lips a couple of times, and then went back to sleep. "Go ahead," she said.

"I was just wondering what Captain Montgomery was talking to you about?"

She looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We were talking about the case. About my… my mom." She swallowed heavily. "And about my apartment blowing up." She took a deep, wet breath. Rick knew that sound. She was about to cry. "He wants me off the case. He wants me out of the city, and _off the case_. And I can't… I can't do that."

The elevator opened before Rick had a chance to do anything.

He shifted Alexis so he could hold her with one hand. When Kate rushed off of the elevator and into the parking garage, he jogged along behind her. For a woman who was limping and had some major burns and scratches from her apartment _blowing up_, she was pretty agile.

"Kate, wait."

He touched her hand with his free one. Wrapping their fingers together, he squeezed tight. She stopped and turned toward him. He pulled her in and she wrapped her arms around his torso. She breathed heavily into his shirt, like the sleeping Alexis, but didn't cry. Finally, she took one last breath and leaned away.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," he said, not letting her go quite yet. "But you will make it through this. I promise."

"How can you be sure?"

He shrugged. "I have faith. In the universe. In you. In us."

She smiled sadly.

And then she turned her attention away from him. She looked at his sleeping girl. She ran a hand through Alexis's long red hair, brushing it free of tangles when she hit them on the way down. She reached up again and ran a finger along the girl's hairline, tears coming to her eyes when Alexis smiled and snuggled closer to her hand.

The love he felt for her returned.

And if it was possible, he loved her even more.

Finally, when she looked stable enough to get in her car and drive… wherever she was going, he let her go. She took a couple of steps back and turned to head her car, the only material item she had after the explosion.

"Kate!" he called after her. "What were you going to say before?"

She bit her lip, embarrassed and hobbled back over to him.

She leaned up and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. His heart stopped for a long moment and then it stuttered to a start again, making him nervous. "Thank you," she whispered, her breath fanning over his face. "For saving me."

* * *

><p>When Rick reached his apartment, his mother was waiting.<p>

"Mother," he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

She gave him a strange look. "I'm here to pick up my granddaughter." She looked at Alexis sleeping on his shoulder. "Late night?"

He chuckled. "You don't know the half of it." He filled her in on the night, starting from the time Gina had knocked on the door, to Kate's apartment, to the Precinct and the new developments, and, finally, to the conversation he and Kate had in the apartment. He ended it with, "And I really don't want to talk about Kate and me. It's just… really complicated right now."

"Well, I'm here now. So, I will take her to the school and pick her up afterwards. But you have to be back here before five tonight." She took Alexis and the girl slowly came to, blinking at the bright light shining throughout the living room. "I have a date tonight and I'm not going to be available."

Rick smiled.

"When did it come to this?" he asked.

She cocked her head to the side. "Come to what, darling?"

"I'm supposed to be the _good_ dad," he said. "I didn't have a dad and I promised my future children that I would put them before everything else. And it's not enough. I'm caught between two jobs, a nasty divorce, a strange relationship, murders, book publishers, and I can't even take my own daughter to her school. I just…"

Martha quickly shook her head.

"No, no, no," she said. "Rick, you are doing the best you can. And Alexis is fine. She misses her father, sure, but she at least knows you. Her mother she does not know. She waits for you, honey, no one else. She loves you, Rick. She thinks the world of you."

Rick swallowed.

Alexis opened her eyes and look up at Rick. "Mornin', Daddy," she mumbled.

Rick leaned forward and kissed his daughter's forehead. "Good morning, pumpkin."

She smiled and closed her eyes again, snuggling against Martha's neck. Rick leaned up and kissed his own mother on the forehead. "Thank you, Mother," he said.

"Sure, sure," she brushed it off. "Now, I'm going to take this sleepy girl and get her ready for school and you are going to get a few hours' rest. You can go into the Precinct later." She turned and was halfway up the stairs before she turned around again. "Oh, and please don't forget about tonight. Mama's going fishing."

* * *

><p>Rick was startled out of a dead sleep several hours later.<p>

He looked over to his nightstand. His cellphone was glowing brightly in the darkened room. He swallowed, feeling his stomach tight with nerves. He picked up the phone and pulled it close.

There was one text message from an unknown number.

It read:

_Someone always has to die_.

Rick felt his throat clog with fear. He leaped out of bed, looking around his room – as if he'd find someone there, watching him.

His phone beeped again, alerting him of another text message.

He picked it up.

This one was from Esposito and it read: _We got him_.


	27. Oh, That's Creepy

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 26 – "Oh, That's Creepy"<em>

* * *

><p>"Oh, that's creepy."<p>

Scott Dunn's apartment looked more like a shrine to Johanna Beckett. Rick had never seen a picture of Johanna Beckett – but Kate was in ninety percent of them with a woman that looked almost identical to her. It had to be her.

God, Johanna Beckett was such a beautiful woman.

In all of the pictures she was smiling.

All but one.

This one was by far the largest picture. It was as tall as the wall and nearly as wide. It was a picture of Johanna Beckett standing in court, yelling at the judge. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a tight knot at the base of her neck and her eyes were green and fiery, like Kate's. When the camera had shot the picture, she had been in the process of slamming down a piece of paper. Right behind her was Scott Dunn.

Their suspect.

The man that had killed so many people.

The bastard that had been hurting Kate.

He looked at Ryan and Esposito. They were wide-eyed and pale-faced, staring at the room like this was the last thing they expected to see. Rick was sure he looked that way too. He felt ill, like he had hadn't eaten in days, and slightly faint. He walked over to the couch and rested his blue, plastic-covered hand on the plaid fabric.

"What the hell?" Esposito said, aghast.

"I…" Ryan couldn't even form an answer. Rick was the same way. Uniforms buzzed around them, honey to a flower, sweeping for prints, blood, hair, anything. Lanie was back in the bedroom, talking loudly to some of the assistant medical examiners.

The place was noisy with people. Too noisy. And then suddenly everything died away – the bristles of the brushes, honking of the cars below, the hushed whispers of the men and women in the room. Everything fell away except for the loud gasp by the door.

A gasp he had heard many times before. At the height of the climax, at the saddest part of the movie, at the joy of the rainy morning. It was Kate Beckett. He looked over to her, everything freezing, and all he saw was her.

He realized then that he didn't want her to see this place. He realized that he should have done something – anything – to not allow her to see this place.

She held her feelings oh-so-well. She was breathing steadily, her eyes clear and focused as she looked around the room. But he could see the sunlight through the cracks. He could see her nostrils flaring, the pink tint of her right ear that was exposed from her hair. He could see her interior crumbling.

It had only been five years since her mother had been murdered.

She shouldn't have to look at this.

Then her eyes fell on him. She took a step into the room and suddenly everything sped up again. The Uniforms stopped their work to look up at her. Esposito and Ryan slowly turned to look at her. Rick couldn't look away from her.

He never could.

Before he could say anything, she had turned around and was out of the room. Her leather jacket, her white t-shirt, her dark jeans, her tall black boots were gone. Her flowing hair, her light makeup, her shiny eyes were gone. Her sweet smile in the morning, her lips on his skin, her delicate fingers running down his spine were gone.

She was gone.

Rick blinked and people were doing their work once more. He looked at Ryan and Esposito – the only two who still seemed to be shocked by the place. "What should we do?" Ryan asked nervously, clutching onto the blue plastic gloves he had yet to put on. Rick pushed himself off of the couch.

"Nothing," he told them. "There's nothing we can do to make this better. She needs her space."

Esposito said, "We're going to get this son of a bitch."

Rick agreed. They would.

* * *

><p>"I had him! I am him and he got away."<p>

Fifteen minutes had passed since Kate left. Ryan and Esposito were finishing up their sweep and Rick had already finished his. He was waiting outside for them – waiting to grab a bite to eat – when he got the call.

He knew it was Kate. He didn't even have to look at the caller I.D. He just knew. It was so weird – the connection they had. Because connected they were. By law. By partnership. By lust. By laughter. And love. There was always love, wasn't there?

"Kate?"

"I saw him, Rick. Dunn. Scott Dunn was outside, Rick. He was watching." She heard her take a deep breath, tears and exhaustion lacing her voice. "I chased after him. But he got away. Through the subway. God, I had him and I lost him!"

"Kate," he said. "Slow down. Where are you? I'll come get you."

* * *

><p>Captain Montgomery ordered them to go home.<p>

"But, sir, I don't have a home to go to," Kate pleaded with him. Rick knew she didn't want to go home – she wanted to solve the case. She wouldn't sleep until she caught him. Scott Dunn.

"You can stay with me," he offered, staring at Captain Montgomery's nameplate. It was written in Arial, he was sure of it. Or was it Arial Bold? It was so hard to tell when it was in white. Why would they use Arial anyway? Times New Roman was much more authoritative.

"What?"

He tore his eyes away from the desk to look at her. "You can stay with me. Temporarily."

"No, I can't."

"That really isn't a good idea, Detective," Montgomery warned. "You two already have your jobs on the line. I can't allow that. I – I just can't."

Rick replied, "We're already getting fired, aren't we?"

Kate took a deep breath and Montgomery gave him a hard look. "Detective, that hasn't been decided quite yet. But you're really sprinting to that conclusion, aren't you?"

Rick shrugged. "It's pretty much a fact. We broke a rule. A big rule. One of the biggest rules. If we're going to get fired after this, shouldn't Kate be somewhere, with someone, where she's safe?" Rick returned the stare, not wavering. For some reason, he had now accepted the fact that he wasn't going to be a detective next week. After this case was over. Whatever.

He would lose his job.

And Kate would too.

And the least he could do was keep her safe.

* * *

><p>Kate stomped into his apartment, leaving him behind in a cloud of smoke.<p>

She went to the living room and plopped down on the couch, working on unzipping her boots. She threw them aside and leaned back, crossing her arms across her chest. Rick watched, slightly amused, slightly horrified, and approached two minutes later.

"Kate?"

"You're such a dick, you know that?"

Rick swallowed, pursed his lips.

"I've been told that before."

"I don't want to be here."

He walked around the corner of the couch so he was standing in front of her. She didn't look at him. He didn't mind though. He knew this wasn't going to be easy. He knew she wouldn't let him back. He knew they were through. He knew she was going to move on one day.

"I know."

She looked at him, exasperated. "Then why would you do it?"

She was never going to be his again.

She would move on.

But he wasn't sure he could.

"I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Safe?" she yelled, getting to her feet. She was much shorter than him without her boots on – he used to tease her about it in the shower and she would slap him before a long, wet kiss. "This isn't keeping me safe. This is the most important thing in my life, Castle! And you're keeping me hostage. How could you do this?" She was irate now, coming toward him, shoving him, pushing him.

He didn't move.

He let her shove him.

He couldn't do anything else.

"You came into my life," she whispered furiously as tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes. "You came into my life with your sweet words and your promises and you ruined everything. I'll lose my job. I'll never catch my mother's killer. All because…" She stopped, seeming to realize what she was saying. Realizing her wall was crumbling.

And she was trying to save it.

"How could you do this?"

He started. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, "Because I love you."

He hadn't said that since the lake. He hadn't it said all those nights he stayed up watching her sleep. He never said it in the shower when shampoo ran down her cheeks and she laughed, young and beautiful and free. He didn't say it when she walked away from him.

He never could.

Not until now.

She backed away from him.

"But you already know that," he went on. "Don't you?" And suddenly he was there, in the park. He could feel the chill of October air and the smell of fallen leaves. He could see her there, smoothing Alexis's hair, pulling her scarf tighter, guarding his little girl from the cold.

He could remember the redness of her lips, the curl of her hair. He could remember her eyes – more green than brown that day, the same color as summer trees. _I think I love you_. He could remember how she had frowned, how her eyes looked at the ground.

He felt his eyes water.

"You are the most… remarkable." He took a short breath and she sighed. "Maddening. Challenging. Frustrating person I have ever met." He had to get under control. "And I love you, Kate, and if that means anything to you, if you care about me at all, just don't do this. Don't do this right now. Please."

Kate was clenching her teeth so hard Rick thought maybe she would turn to stone. He swallowed, pushing the tears back. He couldn't cry. Not like this. He had to be strong. He had to be the strong one because Kate was the only one allowed to be weak right now.

"Knock, knock!"

The front door opened and banged up against the wall. Rick turned around, shook off the emotions, and walked away from her. His mother was home, which meant his little girl was home. As long he had her, he would be alright. Everything would be alright.

He would be alright.

He had to be. For Alexis.

"Daddy!" Alexis raced into the living room, where he stood awkwardly. She crashed into his legs and he grunted, picking her up wrapping his arms around her back. "Hey, baby bird," he leaned away from her and kissed her nose. "How's my favorite girl?"

"Good, Daddy," she said. Then she scrunched her nose and went. "Ah, sorry, no. I'm well. I'm well, Daddy, And how are you?"

"Very nice," he grinned. "I'm doing well as well."

She grinned, looking over his shoulder. "Katie!" She squirmed in his arms and he let her down. She made a bee-line to Kate, who was still frozen where she had yelled at him. When Alexis caught her attention and he could hear her talking, he walked to the kitchen, where his mother was waiting.

"Kate's here?" she asked, pulling out a carton of milk. He leaned up against the counter and she squeezed by him to get a cup.

"Milk, mother?" he asked. "I didn't think you liked milk."

"Alexis wants milk," she huffed, pouring a hefty glass. She capped the bottle. "What's Kate doing here, Richard? Surely you haven't made up?"

His mother truly did know everything, didn't she?

"No," he replied curtly. "She's living here… temporarily. Until she can find a new place." She nodded, a hint of a smile on her face. "She'll be safer here than she would in a hotel."

"Because she obviously can't take care of herself?" His mother smirked and he glared, not really wanting to argue with her.

Luckily, he didn't have to. Alexis bounded into the kitchen, dragging Kate by the hand. She brushed Rick's shoulder and he shivered, stepping away from them. "Grams, did you get me my milk?" Alexis asked sweetly.

"Of course I did, darling," his mother replied and handed the glass to Alexis. When it wobbled in Alexis's hands, Kate helped steady her. While she did so, Martha looked directly at him, giving him one of those teasing, all-knowing looks, telling him to _talk to her_, _do something about it_, or, his personal favorite, _grow some balls_.

He ignored her.

After a long drink, Alexis giggled at her milk mustache. Kate smiled sweetly at her and set the nearly full glass on the counter. "Daddy," Alexis said. "Can I take Katie to my room and show her my wand collection?"

He smiled. "If Kate wants to."

He looked at her but she was looking at his daughter.

"Let's go, sweetie," she said and they exited the kitchen without a backward glance.

After a pregnant pause, Martha clapped her hands together and said, "Well, I must be going now. I've got to run home and change before my big date tonight." She winked at him. "I'll be unavailable until tomorrow morning, darling. I'm hoping to get lucky."

"Oh, mother," Rick gagged. "No matter how old I get, I never, ever want to hear about your sex life. I mean, like, _ever_."

Martha grinned.

She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. She rested her hand there gently and said, "Everything will work out, you know?" she asked him. He nodded. His mother always said that. She said that about her career, her relationships, everything. Everything would work out.

She patted his cheek and then sauntered out the door. "Goodbye, Richard!" she called.

"Goodbye, Mother."

* * *

><p>His phone rang.<p>

Groggy, he reached out his hand, searching for it in the dark. God, was it always this loud? He really needed to turn it down a little when he was trying to sleep. It sounded like someone was on his bed, killing a bird was an electric saw.

He didn't recognize the caller I.D. Nerves shot through him. Last time this happened, he had gotten a text from Scott Dunn. Was he calling him now?

"Hello?"

"Hello? Richard Rodgers?" a man's voice said on the other line.

"Yes?"

"Hi, this is William Rodgers, a friend of your mother's?" Rick sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes until it stung. He reached into the depths of his mind to pull out the name. Oh, yeah, he remembered. He met him a few months ago, when he first started at the Twelfth.

"Yeah, yeah, hi," he said and looked at the clock. Almost one in the morning. God, why was this man calling so late?

William said, "I'm just calling to ask where Martha is." That got his attention. Rick's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Before he had the chance to ask, William explained, "We were supposed to meet for our date at eight and she never showed. I waited for a couple of hours but then decided that she had forgotten or something." He paused. "It just isn't like her to forget. We just talked about this dinner. I'm sorry I called so late, I just couldn't get her off my mind. Have you seen her?"

Rick felt fear surge through his veins, like blood.

His mother never showed for dinner?

"No, I—"

The line beeped.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the call-waiting. "Martha Rodgers" blinked back at him. He felt the fear immediately recede. She was calling him. He would answer and she would explain what happened.

_Beep_.

"William," he said, pressing the phone back up against his ear. "She's calling me right now. I'll talk to her and call you back."

_Beep_.

"Oh, great, thanks so much, Richard." The relief was evident in William's voice. Maybe this was this one for her, Rick thought. He seemed genuine enough, if not a little slow on the response time. _Actors_.

_Beep_.

"Yep."

He clicked the line over.

"Richard?"

His mother's voice was steady but tense. "Mother?" he asked. "Mother where were you tonight? William just called me in a panic—"

"Oh," she said, like she was waving him off. "Julie from the theater called me. There was a… an accident that I needed to help with."

"What happened?"

There was a long pause. She said, "One of the crew members fell and she called an ambulance but she was trying to reach his family and didn't know where Jerry kept all his records. He's a brilliant producer but such a slob." She laughed but it was fake.

This was so strange, he thought.

"Oh, well, you should call William too, Mother," he said. "I'm sure he'll be relieved to hear from you."

She didn't answer.

"Mother?"

"I love you, darling."

And then the phone went dead.

Something was wrong, he thought. Something was very, very wrong.


	28. Stay With Me

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 27 – "Stay With Me"<em>

**11:22 A.M.**

* * *

><p>He had never felt such pain before.<p>

The closest comparison he could make was a brawl he had with Jimmy Martinez in the ninth grade when Rick had kissed his girlfriend right in front of him. He was so beat up and bloody afterwards that his mother had to take him to the hospital.

It was like that but a thousand times worse. All the blood, cuts, bruises – all in one place. Nothing was a bad as this.

"Rick!"

A voice, more like a whisper, overcame him like rain. He felt himself blink and by the time his eyes opened again, a face was over him. She was blurry. He could hardly make out the soft brown curls, the muddy emerald eyes, and the smooth curve of her lips. If he hadn't burned them into his memory, he wasn't sure if he would even recognize who it was.

Her hand curved around the back of his neck and he was lifted. The pain spiked, shifted, and shot up his back. He was going to throw up. He was going to die. This was it, he thought. He was going to die.

He would never write another novel.

He would never hold his daughter in his arms.

He would never get to tell _her_ he loved her. Ever again.

"Rick, Rick…. Stay with me. Stay with me, Rick…"

He closed his eyes, letting her voice lead him into darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>1:08 A.M.<br>**_9 Hours and 14 Minutes Earlier_

* * *

><p>He couldn't take the elevator because it was too slow.<p>

Rick took the stairs two at a time, reaching the Twelfth in minutes. He burst through the doors and didn't spare himself a breath before running to his desk, where Beckett was already waiting for him. It was so late – he shouldn't have expected her to go home and rest. But he did.

"Beckett!" he called at her.

She whirled around and her face was panicked. "Rick," she said and he didn't even allow himself to be surprised at her use of his first name. He reached her and she took his arm. "Rick – Castle… Dunn – he's took your mother."

"I know," Rick replied. "She called me. Something was wrong."

Beckett nodded. "I just got off the phone with him. He's emailing proof that she's still alive." She looked around him. "Where's Alexis?"

"Alexis is with Gina," he told her. "I called her and she came over. I – I…"

Beckett shook her head and squeezed his arm so hard that he could actually feel it. He didn't realize that he hadn't felt anything until now. And suddenly, everything came crashing down on him at once. He suddenly felt the burn in his lungs, the prickle in his feet, the sting in his eyes.

He blinked.

"Rick, we'll find her," Beckett said and gave him a reassuring smile. "We'll have her home before Alexis can even realize she's gone. I promise. I _promise_."

He looked at her, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

She smirked, "I'm not."

Their moment lasted just a second longer. Then, the elevator doors binged open and Captain Montgomery strode in, yelling, "Beckett! Rodgers!"

She let go.

He was by them in mere seconds, asking them questions. Beckett must have called before Rick got here; Montgomery looked like he was ripped out of bed – he had on a pair of sweatpants and a night shirt stuffed into them haphazardly with a brown suit jacket. Under other circumstances, Rick might have made fun of him.

That considering, he didn't.

"What's going on?"

Beckett retold her phone call with Scott Dun. After a few hours of rest (which was a big, fat lie) she had been staring at the murder board when she got the call. It was from Dunn, rambling about Johanna and the case. _How he was innocent, innocent, and she believed him_. _She didn't win but it wasn't her fault_._ God had always been out to get him_. When he said that he had taken his revenge, Beckett knew. Somehow, she knew that he had taken Martha Rodgers.

"I asked for proof, sir, and he said he would send me an email."

"Has he?"

Beckett spun on her heel and leaned over her desk to check her email. Her computer froze and she cursed, starting it over but not before slamming her monitor with the heel of her palm. Rick used the time to explain his side of the story.

When he finished, Montgomery ran a hand down his face, shiny with sweat. "Okay," he said. "I'm calling in Esposito and Ryan along with every Uniform on call. We're going to find this son of a bitch and your mother, Rick." He gave Rick a long, hard look. "We will."

Rick nodded, swallowing hard.

* * *

><p><strong>1:25 A.M.<br>**_8 Hours and 57 Minutes Earlier_

* * *

><p>While Montgomery was in his office calling other Uniforms, Ryan and Esposito came running to the Twelfth in less than ten minutes after he had called them.<p>

That was surprising, since they both lived a considerable amount away from the precinct. Rick didn't have time to properly process the loyalty of his teammates, however, because as soon as they got there, Beckett had the video file up and running.

Rick suddenly had trouble breathing when his mother's figure came up on the screen.

She was sitting on a rusty wire chair that looked like it should be sitting out on the patio of an old decrepit house. She was wearing the same outfit she had the night before with the addition of numerous cuts in the fabric; her jacket was hanging off of her shoulder, her boney shoulder exposed. Her makeup had been reduced to two black streaks connecting her bottom eyelids to her chin.

Her eyes were scared.

Her mouth gagged.

Rick felt a hand in his. He looked down to see Beckett squeezing tightly. He looked at her. She had been leaning over her desk alongside him but he hadn't remembered her so close. He remembered the promise she had made him not a half hour before: _We will find her. I promise. I promise_.

She looked down the screen. Rick continued to stare at the side of her head, paying close attention to the curve of her ears. He had never really looked at her ears before – nibbled and licked, sure – but he had never actually admired the way in which they held back her hair, appreciated what they heard when he didn't say a word, the way they understood.

She understood him.

For better or worse, she did.

"Martha Rodgers," Beckett read aloud and Rick whipped his head back around so he was reading alongside her voice. "She reminds me of you, Johanna. She's bright and such a wonderful mother. But definitely not as pretty."

"That son of a bitch," Esposito muttered from Castle's left.

Ryan's finger suddenly extended towards the top, right-hand corner of the computer screen. "What is that?" he asked. They all leaned forward. The window behind Martha was completely taped off, save for the very top, where just a streak of the outside could be seen. Rick squinted his eyes. It looked like a bridge was on the other side…

Beckett's desk phone rang so loudly and suddenly, all four detectives jumped.

She looked down at it before answering.

"It's him, isn't it?" she asked and met dead silence.

She reached a delicate hand forward and snatched the phone off of the receiver. She muttered, "Beckett" into the line. Her eyes were suddenly focused, the dimmed fear forgotten, and the change made the boys all spring into action. Rick rushed over to his side of the desk, picking up his line while Ryan and Esposito rushed to set up the tracking equipment.

Rick heard: "Did you receive my email, Johanna?"

He watched Beckett square her shoulders. "I did."

"Good, good. You can see now what I am capable of, Johanna. You never thought I could so such a thing, could you? You always told me that. You always told me that I loved too strong and some people just didn't understand."

"Really?" Beckett said in surprise. "I don't remember saying that. I remember saying that you were a freak that needed treatment but I guess we all process conversations differently."

Rick felt his eyes widen and the phone went slack in his hand. He rapped the edge of her desk with his fist. She looked up at him, glaring, and raised her index finger to her lips, silently indicating for him to shut the hell up.

What was she doing?

"I see what you are doing, Johanna," Dunn laughed. "You're trying to bate me. Trying to anger me to keep me on the phone longer. No matter. I will be gone from this place soon enough, with or without dear Martha in tow. Depending on what you can give me."

Beckett blew a piece of her hair out of her face.

"What do you want, Dunn?" she asked, the venom seeping out of her outstretched fangs.

"You, of course," he said. He sounded like they were having a conversation over what tea to have with their mincemeat pie. _Green tea or black tea? What do you want, Dunn? Black, of course…_

"Me?"

"I've only wanted you, Johanna."

Beckett caught Rick's eye from across the desk. As a man, he was caught between a very large rock and an even harder hard place. He wanted to save his mother – he _had_ to save his mother. But the prospect of bating Dunn with his lover, the woman he loved, was almost too much to bear.

He shook his head slowly to her.

Her eyes wavered and then she whispered, "You want me. You got me."

_Black tea it is._

"Excellent," Dunn boasted. "Then I shall email you instructions for the trade in just a few hours."

"Got it," Beckett said, now looking antsy to get off the phone. Next to him, Ryan and Esposito were counting down Dunn's position. _Ten, nine, eight…_

"Oh, and Johanna?"

"Yes?"

_Seven, six, five, four…_

"Bring any backup and I will slit Martha Rodger's throat before you can even utter one word. Goodbye, detective. I will talk to you soon."

_Three_.

And the phone line went dead.

* * *

><p><strong>5:42 A.M.<br>**_5 Hours and 40 Minutes Earlier_

* * *

><p>Rick awoke from a fitful sleep to the sound of brewing coffee.<p>

He sat up and realized that he was sleeping in the break room on the very outdated, very worn orange couch that rested on the back of the room, opposite of the coffee machine. He rubbed his eyes and watched as the black and white dots made their way out of his vision.

He was left staring at Beckett's backside.

"Kate?" he asked.

She turned around, stirring the cup of coffee as she did so. Their eyes locked in the late moonlight. God, was she always this beautiful in the moonlight? Yes, he thought, remember one particular evening in which he had woken up in the early morning to watch her sleep when he no longer could.

"You're up."

"Yeah."

She turned around again and he thought the conversation was over. Kate was always surprising him, however, and when she turned back around and headed to him with another cup of coffee, it took him a moment of hesitation to accept it.

"Thanks," he whispered and sat up. After handing his drink over, she took a sip of hers, and sat down next to him. She hunched over on her forearms, staring into her cup like it held the answers to all the questions she had. Coffee had that effect sometimes. Rick was pretty sure that coffee ruled the universe.

They sat in an awkward silence for no more than thirty seconds when Rick finally said, "I really don't want you to do this, Kate. I don't want you to go in."

She made a sound in the back of her throat. "I won't be going in alone," she told him. He whirled around to look at her, sloshing a bit of coffee onto the floor. She smiled at him. "You'll be there with me," she said.

"But Dunn…"

She laughed a high, nearly hysterical laugh that made Rick jump and even more coffee spilt on the floor. He cursed, taking a hefty sip, despite the burning of his tongue.

"I know you haven't worked in Homicide long," she said, "but I thought for sure that you wouldn't think I would go in there alone."

"Kate," he said. "This is my mother."

She nodded. "I recognize that. But we have a procedure to follow. We _will_ get her back, Rick." She took his arm again in her hand. "I know that you would do anything to save her. But he wants me, Rick. _Me_. Let me do this. You'll be there, with SWAT, right behind me. We'll get this guy and we'll get your mother back and then we can put this God forsaken case behind us."

It was the most she had said to him since their breakup.

He wasn't reassured by her speech, however.

"What if something happens?" he whispered desperately, looking to his cup of coffee, seeking answers in the depth of black liquid. It was quiet. "I couldn't…"

She ran her hand down his arm until she was holding his hand. "Nothing will happen," she said. "Nothing."

"How do you know?"

He finally looked at her, interlacing their fingers.

"Because I have to," she told him as the moon went behind a cloud, leaving everything black in its wake.

* * *

><p><strong>10:51 A.M.<br>**_31 Minutes Earlier_

* * *

><p>The exchange was to be taken place at an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city at 11:00 A.M.. It was an old fishing warehouse that closed down some fifty years before and was no mostly used for drug sales and partying for underage punks.<p>

Rick let Beckett drive to the scene.

Just ten minutes behind them were about fifteen SWAT vans, some fifty SWAT team members, and twenty police cars full of all the Uniforms that were on duty. Ryan and Esposito were just a few minutes behind them, driving an unmarked Toyota Corolla.

The sky was gloomy and cloudy. It had rained around seven that morning, and the rain had just now stopped after almost an hour of driving. The car he and Beckett were in, an unmarked Nissan Sentra, bounced and sloshed along the broken road of the abandoned part of town.

The warehouse they were supposed to meet in was part of two-set company building. The first warehouse was marked with an A, the second with B. Inside building A, on the third floor, Dunn was with his mother. He couldn't even imagine what they did for the several hours he had her in his possession. He didn't want to know.

But he did.

"We're almost there," Beckett said out loud, breaking the record long silence between them. The GPS in front of them could tell him that much but he knew that she was just talking to make him feel better. "We're so close to catching him, Castle…"

He nodded but continued to stare out the window, not sure what to say in response.

Finally, after another five minutes, it was 10:57 A.M. and they had arrived to building A. They both unbuckled their seatbelts and sat there for a few seconds, breathing.

"This is it," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

She turned to him. "If anything happens in there…"

"Nothing will," he told her, staring at the chipping paint of the 'A' on the building. "Nothing will happen. You said so yourself."

In his peripheral vision, he watched her bite her lip, uncertain, and then nod. "You're right," she told him. Then, she leaned forward and unlatched the walkie-talkie from its place on the dash. "Ryan, Esposito," she said.

"Here, Beckett," Ryan's voice came from the speaker.

"You in position?"

His voice crackled, "Yes. We're right behind you. SWAT is just seconds behind us, positioned not too far away. You're good to go, Beckett, Castle."

"Thanks, Kevin," Beckett said and clipped the device back in its place. "You ready?" she asked.

Before he had a chance to respond, her phone rang.

"Beckett," she answered, putting it on speakerphone so Rick could hear.

"You're here," Dunn said. "I can't wait to see you, Johanna."

The phone went dead in her hand before she could say anything else. She shook her head and pocketed the phone. Turning off the car, she let the keys dangle in the ignition. Rick, who had felt nothing but numbness for the past hour, suddenly had nerves making him choke.

He said, "Beckett. Get my mother out. Get her to my daughter."

"I will," she said, understanding his message.

They were both kidding themselves, thinking that nothing could happen inside this warehouse where they would be all but alone.

But no matter.

"Let's get this bastard," he said, finality ringing in his voice. And then, they were out of the car. Rick concealed him in the overgrown bushes by the back entrance of the building and Beckett went around front, hoping that Dunn would watch her and not Rick sneaking around back.

Luckily for Rick, the back exit was hanging on just one of its hinges. He hardly made a sound as the opened the door. He crept alongside the first floor of the building, in a maze of shelves upon shelves of old boxes and other odd trinkets. Why would all of these items be in a fish factory? He wondered but didn't spare many more seconds to the question.

Stepping over fallen leaves and broken off nails, his feet made a steady echo throughout the empty room. On the wall to the left of the back door was a door leading to the stairwell that was somehow even worse shape than the basement. Dead mice and fallen leaves littered the stairs. It was next to impossible to see in the stairwell and he tripped on the first landing, bending down on his hands and knees to catch his breath.

Along the left side of hand, he felt something furry and cold.

Standing up, he suddenly remembered the flashlight he had attached to his belt and clicked it on. His nerves were making him stupid. He was making dumb mistakes, stupid _idiotic_ mistakes, and if he screwed this up, his mother was dead. Beckett was dead.

No more mistakes.

When he reached the third landing, he made sure it was third floor by staring at the peeling '3' marked on the wall in front of him. Next to it read, "God saves All."

He swallowed, flipping the flashlight off.

He rested his hand along the doorknob to the floor and turned it slowly. It swung open without any problems and Rick drew his gun. Inside was completely empty save for the chair his mother was sitting on several feet away and the line of boxes that were conveniently placed for his hiding.

Kate was facing him and Dunn had his back to him. He gave her a short wave and she didn't bother to even look at him even though he knew she had seen. It had happened all the time nowadays: he knew she was looking, even if she pretended she wasn't.

He squatted behind the boxes, keeping his gun at steady.

"Okay," he heard Beckett. "I'm here. Now, let her go."

Dunn laughed and it echoed throughout the empty room. Rick felt a pressure in his shoulder and he let out a long breath. He didn't move, couldn't move, and tried to move soundlessly to relive the pain now pushing its way through his veins.

"It's not that simple, Johanna," he said and Rick could hear the smile in his voice. "But I'm glad that you haven't lost your ability to get straight to the point. I remember when you…" he stopped himself before he revealed anything else. "Ah, but you already know that."

"It seemed to have slipped my mind," Beckett said, slipping into the role like a silk nightgown. "I deal with a lot of clients, as you know." He heard the ringing of her heels as she took a step towards him. There was a ruffling sound the clicking of a loaded gun and she stopped short.

"I do remember you also tended to overbook your appointments, yes," he replied. "But I was a special case. You told me that, do you remember? You said you would help me, Johanna, and help me you did. I didn't have to go to prison. You set me free."

Beckett's voice was angry now. "And this is how you repay me? You kill people I'm close to… and now you've kidnapped my partner's mother."

Dunn hissed, "Your _partner's_ mother?" He let out another cackle. "You don't mean, your lover's mother, your boyfriend's mother? How would your husband feel if he knew that you were putting out for a dick like Rick Castle?"

Rick furrowed his eyebrows, pouting a bit.

_Wow, I knew he was a psycho, but who would have thought he was such an asshole_, he thought, and then blinked.

"My husband?" Kate slipped before she had the chance to think it over. Rick took another deep breath, holding it. She tried to recover, "Oh, Jim?" Then she laughed and it was so heartbreaking, Rick felt his throat burn. "He left me… Scott. He left me and Rick was just… there. It doesn't mean anything, Scott. Nothing. He doesn't."

Dunn took the bait.

So did Rick. He felt his heart stutter with her words. He knew she was acting, faking it, she had to be, but it hurt all the same. It had been too long now since he got to touch her, to talk to her, and to be with her without all the pretenses. It had been too long since she had been Kate.

"He doesn't mean anything?" he asked, his voice suddenly soft and wobbly. "He doesn't mean anything to you at all, Johanna?"

"No," Beckett said a little too quickly. "He means nothing to me." Her voice cracked on the word "nothing." He swallowed and shifted slightly, all of his joints cramping beyond belief.

That had been a mistake.

The boxes shifted and the topmost one fell to the ground with just a slight swoosh. Everything in the room fell silent and no was breathing. Rick's eyes widened until they hurt and then he finally gasped. Suddenly, all the other boxes fell.

Beckett yelled, "No!"

Rick stood up just in time for Dunn to come at him. Dunn punched him, throwing Rick off balance, and his gun scattered across the floor. They fell backwards and he gasped as his back hit the floor.

There was another punch and Rick felt his nose break. Rick lifted his hand but Dunn was straddling him and he couldn't move before there was another punch.

It was all so fast.

There was a shot and then Dunn whirled his head around to see Beckett running to them. "Get away from him, Dunn! Step back! Get back!"

Dunn pushed himself off of Rick's chest and then he was running. Rick stumbled to his feet and Beckett reached him just a split-second later. "Rick," she breathed, taking ahold of his chin. He winced and said, "I'm fine. I'm fine."

Their eyes connected and suddenly it was the second time he ever made love to her. The time he could really remember. He remembered the feel of her skin, the look in her eye, the fire, the passion. He looked down at her lips and then back to her eyes.

"Get my mother. I'm going after Dunn."

He ripped himself from her grasp before she had a chance to protest and then Rick practically flew down the stairs after Dunn. He heard the bottom door slam shut and he leapt down the final stairway to reach the ground level.

The flung the door open and it hit the door with a crash.

When it latched behind him, everything was silent.

He realized suddenly that in his haste to go after Dunn, he had left his gun with Beckett. He slowly, quietly, bent down to his ankle and got his backup. He stepped on a leaf and it crunched loudly in the room.

"Dunn!" he yelled. "Come out, you coward."

He lifted the gun slowly, his hands sweaty with nerves.

"Johanna's dead, Dunn," he said suddenly. "She was stabbed five years ago. She was murdered, Dunn. Was it you that did it?" He waited a long time before he added, "Did you kill her?"

He took another step in the room and nothing moved.

He couldn't hear anyone breathing.

"Dunn!"

There was a pause.

And then there was a shot and he felt his knees buckle under him. The bullet had gone straight through his right thigh, just above his knee. He was falling.

Dunn was there in a second, shoving him down. Then, there was a slice and he felt the knife go through his lower abdomen. He coughed and blood spattered onto Dunn's jacket. Rick realized then that he was clutching onto the man's arm.

"Sorry," Dunn said, but didn't sound sorry at all. "But Johanna deserves more than you."

Kate was in the middle of untying Martha when she heard the shot.

She gasped, clutching onto the rope, trying desperately to untie the knot. She could hardly get her fingers to move because they were shaking so badly. At the scream, she dropped the rope. "Go, go!" Martha yelled at her. "Go, I can take care of this."

Kate felt bile in her throat and she tried to not throw up.

She was running to the door before she knew it. She tripped, and she fell to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and pushed her way through the door and took the stairs two at a time, not caring that she was making too much noise.

She pulled her gun out on the bottom floor and then she burst through the door. Just ten yards in front of her was Rick, lying on the ground, holding onto Dunn. Dunn was whispering something and then Beckett had her gun raised.

"Dunn!" she yelled. He looked up just as the gun fired.

Dunn fell back, screaming in pain. She had hit him in the shoulder, even though she had been aiming for his forehead. Her hands were shaking roughly as she put her gun back into the holster.

She sprinted down the hallways, running next to lines and lines of shelves that were full of nothing but leaves, torn paper, and bird nests. She fell down next to Rick and looked over to Dunn. His head had lobbed to the side and he was out cold. The blood spread across the floor like half an angel wing.

Then, she looked at Rick.

His eyes were wide, tears streaming out of both eyes. She lifted his head in her hand, looking down his body for the injury. He had been stabbed near his hip and shot above his knee. She gasped as the blood ran out of him.

"Rick!" she said, her throat and nose burning.

She pressed her free hand into the bullet wound, trying to stop the bleeding. His blood was hot and thick on her fingers. It didn't help because the stab wound was gushing enough blood to kill him in minutes. She cried out and let go of the wound, moving her fingers along his chest and then to his cheek.

She pressed her palm into his cheek, gripping too tightly. Blood smeared across the stubble along his jaw.

"Rick… Stay with me," she pleaded, feeling the tears fall down her cheeks. She felt the blood on her fingers go cold. "Stay with me, Rick."

She suddenly felt his left hand gripping the arm that was nearest to him. His squeezed tight, so tight it would bruise.

"I love you," she told him.

His grip loosened until his hand dropped back to the floor.

And then he closed his eyes.

"I love you, Rick."


	29. I Heard You Were Starting a Flower Shop

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 28 – "I Heard You Were Starting a Flower Shop"<em>

* * *

><p>There were tracks of blood down the mint and white checked floor.<p>

She stumbled along behind the tracks, following it like breadcrumbs, like somehow she would find a miracle, exactly what she was looking for, at the end. But she wouldn't.

Doctors and nurses seemed to be emerging from every hallway and door, running to the gurney and the man that lay dying on top of it. An EMT straddled him, pumping his chest in a rhythmic motion; he was yelling out things to the doctors.

"He's lost a lot of blood!"

"He's going into shock!"

"I'm losing him!"

Something caught the front of Kate's shoe and she stumbled to the floor. On her hands and knees, she took several deep breaths, trying to slow her heart down. She glanced at her hands and noticed they were stained with blood, splotchy and runny.

Rick's blood.

She suddenly felt sick to her stomach; bile scraped her throat. She was going to throw up. Maybe if she just laid her head on the cool floor… Maybe it would stop unsettled stomach. As she let herself fall, she felt someone touch her shoulder.

Jerking, she looked up at them, already reaching for her holster. She never would have admitted it that she half-expected to see Scott Dunn standing over her, mocking. _You've lost your touch, Johanna. You were better when I knew you before. You failed him, Johanna, and now his blood will remain on your hands. Just like your mother's. _

It was Esposito.

"Beckett," he said, squatting down next to her. "Come on." He gently reached across her waist and hoisted her up. The room was spinning, the green and white tiles merging together in an odd dance, and she felt Esposito squeeze as she started to faint.

"_Rick_…" she whispered before succumbing to the darkness.

* * *

><p>She was sitting in the waiting room outside the ICU when Martha and Alexis arrived.<p>

It had only been an hour since they had arrived here. Earlier, she saw a janitor running a mop over the trails of blood left by the gurney wheels. Now, it was clean and shiny almost like Rick had never been rushed down that hallway.

Ryan and Esposito had left ten minutes earlier to go back to the crime scene and take care of things. The captain had called just minutes before to tell her that she needed to come in as soon as she could for clearance and paperwork. She had killed someone after all.

"Kate! Kate!" Martha's shrill voice rang down the hallway.

She looked up from her clutched hands to see them. Alexis was wearing a puffy purple coat, her long hair flowing behind her, and tears running down her cheeks. Martha had a bandage wrapped over her head and she was wearing a pair of doctor's scrubs. She felt a twinge of guilt because she had all but forgot Martha had been kidnapped in the last hour. She was too busy worrying about Rick, whether he was going to live or die, whether he knew.

Whether or not he knew that she loved him.

She stood up when they reached her.

Alexis rammed her head into her legs and Kate gasped at the sudden pain. It didn't hurt exactly, but it suddenly took her out of her numbness.

"Kate," Martha repeated and reached up to place both hands along Kate's cheeks. She brushed her fingers underneath Kate's eyelids and it was then that Kate realized she was crying. For how long, she didn't know but her skin felt raw and her eyes stung so it must have been a while.

Damn Richard Castle – he had made her cry more than any man her entire life.

"Have you heard anything?"

She shook her head negatively.

"How long has he been in there?"

She shrugged off the question because she really wasn't sure. It hadn't been long since they had been here and the boys had only left ten minutes ago. But there was a certain way in hospitals made time either go by fast or slow, depending on the person. Kate avoided hospitals at all times. She didn't like how clean they were, or the smell, or the people that were forced here.

It was full of Death.

Her life was already full of so much Death that she never put herself in a position to experience more than she had to already.

Martha patted her cheek gently and then released her. Kate then was drawn to the little girl, crying into her pant legs. "Alexis," she whispered, crouching down so she was staring the little girl in her drippy-wet, red-rimmed eyes. "Sweetheart." She placed her hands along the crown of Alexis's head and ran her fingers through her red locks. "I'm so sorry."

Kate was chocking again, and her eyes were full of tears. She kissed Alexis along her hairline and repeated, "I'm so sorry. But your daddy is strong and brave and he will get through this." She paused, looking up at Martha. "He has to."

* * *

><p>Finally, after nearly six hours of surgery, the doctor finally opened the doors to the ICU.<p>

The doctor looks grave. He looked like the Grim Reaper, managing the gates of Death. He clutched his blue cap in his hand and his blue eyes shifted nervously from Kate to Martha to Alexis. They all stood. Kate hung back while Martha scrambled to the doctor, Alexis running right behind her.

"He lost a lot of blood," the doctor said first. "The knife wound was deep. The bullet wound…" He paused, clearing his throat whilst looking down upon Alexis. "Well, he made it through the surgery. He's still in critical condition but, with some rest, he should be able to pull through."

Martha gasped and a whole new wave of tears overcame her. Alexis didn't understand what was going on, but she was crying again anyway. When Martha noticed her, she immediately bent down to explain to her that her daddy was going to be okay.

Kate didn't hear much of anything. She was too busy trying to breathe properly. He would be okay, she thought. He would be okay.

She hadn't failed him. Like she had failed her mother.

Her throat felt dry and her eyes were as well, even though all she wanted to do was sit down and cry. He was going to live. He was going to be okay. And maybe – maybe – they would be okay as well. Maybe they could pick up the broken pieces of their relationship and glue them back together.

Maybe they could move on.

Together.

"Only family members are allowed in the ICU," the doctor explained. Kate looked up at the man, who looked at her sadly. "I'm sorry, Detective Beckett, but you can't go see him until he is out of critical condition."

Martha gave her a wide-eyed look. Kate forced a smile. "It's fine," she said. "Do you know when he may be up to seeing non-relative visitors?"

The doctor shrugged. "If he makes it through the night, it could be as early as tomorrow morning. But that's only if he doesn't have any complications…"

She nodded. "Okay. Thank you, doctor."

He nodded and headed back into the ICU, most likely onto his next patient. As much as Kate hated death, she would rather be on her side of it than a doctor's side. She couldn't even imagine having someone's life in her hands. She didn't think she could handle it.

Martha gave Kate a desperate look. "I'm so sorry, Kate," she mumbled as Kate shuffled to her. "I should have said something. You're as good as family—"

She shook her head. "It's okay, Martha," she told the older woman. "I have reports to fill out anyway. I'm better just knowing that he's alive."

Martha's eyes turned soft again and she suddenly wrapped her arms around Kate, hugging her deeply. She leaned back, squeezing her arms with ringed fingers. "You are the bravest woman I have ever known, Kate," she said quietly, her eyes once more filling with tears. "Richard is so lucky to have you in his life."

Kate bit her lip. "Not as lucky as me."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Mom."<p>

Usually the graveyard was very pretty this time of year. The snow covered the landscape, making everything pristine and flawless. Kate had always loved the snow, even as a little girl, and would rather have winter than summer any time. Her mother hated the snow, hated to drive in it, and while Kate didn't exactly enjoy it, there was something about lounging around in sweat, a cup of hot tea, and a good book when it was snowing. That kind of leisure didn't come on a summer day.

Today, however, the ground was muddy and the snow was dirty. It had rained early in the day but it wasn't cold enough to snow, so it left everything dirty and gross. This was the winter she didn't enjoy.

But no matter.

She knelt down before her mother's grave, not caring about the slosh seep through her pants. It was cold outside but she didn't really feel it. Maybe it was because she was numb from her shock of her partner/boyfriend/lover/friend/person almost dying or maybe it was because she forgot gloves and her fingers, along with her nose and toes were frozen.

"Mom, do you remember Scott Dunn?"

The wind gave a howl and she pulled her pea coat tighter. She regretted her choice in coats sometimes – she usually picked style over warmth and it was times like these she wished she had a puffy coat no matter if it didn't suit her.

"Well, he killed people this week. He killed people this week that you knew, Mom. And he blamed you. It's funny…" She let out a puff of air. "I don't even remember you mentioning his name. I remember some of the cases you talked about but him?" She shook her head. "I had no idea.

"Esposito called me on the way over here and told me about how you guys knew each other. You were his defense lawyer for a stalking and harassment charge for an ex-girlfriend. You lowered it down to a restraining order." A tear dripped down her cheek. "You always did try to see the best in people even if they were no-good bastards."

With another gust of wind, she shifted and a new surge of cold liquid raced down her leg.

He went crazy after Johanna died. Her name had run in the paper, of course, being the successful lawyer that she was. Dunn had reacted as if it was his own lover who had died. He threatened his coworkers, was pulled over drunk, and trashed his apartment. He became obsessed with her.

He had attacked now because he had just gotten out of prison. He did a nickel upstate for nearly killing a man in a bar fight. He was let out on parole for good behavior. And he came back with a boom. He came with a gun and a plan and a way to finally get Johanna Beckett's attention.

Well, Kate Beckett's attention.

"Mom, he shot my partner," Kate said, leaning over her thighs, pressing her hands into the mud. "He shot Rick, Mom. I – I love him, Mom. And he shot him. Stabbed him." She took a shaky breath, wiping her dripping mascara along the back of her arm. "I ruined everything and he almost died tonight, Mom. Why do I keep doing this, Mom?"

"I thought you'd be out here."

Kate whirled around, reaching for her holster, expecting Dunn, but seeing her own father. He smiled at her sadly, crouching down next to her. "Dad?" she asked, shocked that he picked today to come see her mother's grave. It wasn't the anniversary of her death, nor was it all that close to the holidays. They never came here together and never passed one another here.

"Esposito called me," he said. "Said you left after giving your statement and he was worried about you. I figured you'd come out to talk to your mom."

He knelt down next to her, effectively ruining his khakis, and wrapped a coated arm around her back. He squeezed her tight. "You're cold, sweetheart," he said. "How long have you been out here?"

"Not long," she mumbled.

She looked up at her father. In the past five years, he had aged dramatically. The crows' feet by his eyes were more pronounced, and he had permanent bags under his eyes; he was balding and looked gaunt rather than pudgy like when her mother was alive. He battled alcoholism more often than not but it had been a good three months now that he had been sober. She could feel his arm quivering slightly but she tried not to pay attention to it.

It was times like these when he really felt like her father.

"What happened?" he asked.

Without really meaning to, she told him everything. She told him about Rick and how they met in September, how they "got together" in October, how they ended in early December, and how he almost died the day before. When she was finished, she took a shaky breath, and looked at her father. She laughed guiltily and tucked a loose strand behind your ear.

"I don't know what to do, Dad," she admitted softly.

Her father smiled down at her. "Love isn't often clear, Katie," he told her. "It wasn't clear with your mother and me. Did she ever tell you about the boyfriend she had when we first met?" Kate laughed despite herself and he grinned. "Yeah, it was awful. I was trying so hard to impress and she only had eyes for Bobby Johnson. What a stupid name, right?"

Kate nodded.

"The point is," he continued, "is no one's love is perfect. And yours sounds pretty messed up." She huffed, slapping his shoulder. "But we're human, Kate. Rick can't expect you to be anymore. And you expect yourself to do anything more either."

She looked at him and smiled.

* * *

><p>His room was stock full of flowers.<p>

Everywhere were lilies, tulips, sunflowers, and others that she didn't recognize but appreciated all the same. She took a step inside the door and shut it firmly behind her. She bit her lips, staring down at her boots and then she glanced up.

Rick was awake and staring at her.

She couldn't help herself. She broke out into a smile and stepped forward towards him before she saw that he was not alone. Martha and Alexis were sleeping next to him; Martha was slumped over the bed in one of the hospital chairs and Alexis was curled at Rick's side, clutching his arm tightly in her sleep.

She looked at him, unsure, and he nodded her over.

Grateful, she made her way across the room, guilty about wearing such noisy shoes. When she approached him, her boots skidded and she furrowed her eyebrows in frustration.

If he noticed, he didn't let on, and Kate said, "I heard you were starting a flower shop."

He smiled. "I think most of them are from the Precinct." He paused. "I guess I'm not going to live this down, am I?"

"No," she replied, smiling at him. "They'll tease you for the rest of your life."

Silence.

Horrid, awkward silence.

"I heard you tried to save me," he offered.

She shook her head. "You heard wrong," she answered honestly. "I just shot Dunn before he could finish the job."

"Sounds like saving to me."

"If I were faster…"

"You're too hard on yourself."

She touched the top of his hand, grazing her fingers along his knuckles. He stiffened under her touch and politely moved his hand down his side, away from her. Her eyebrows knitted together, wondering, and she gave him a questioning look.

"Did you hear anything else?" she asked him seriously.

_I love you. I love you, Rick_.

_Don't leave me._

He shook his head a fraction of an inch. "No," he vocalized. "I remember running down the stairs but everything gets kind of fuzzy after that. The next thing I know, Alexis is trying to climb up my arm in the ICU. It kind of hurt."

Kate swallowed, controlling her emotions.

He hadn't heard her confession after all.

"Kate," he murmured, "I need to tell you something." She frowned, her neck warming up at his calm exterior, his dead eyes. She looked away, down back to her boots. She nodded but did not reply. "When Dunn shot me, the bullet ricocheted in my leg and really tore up the muscles in there. It also shattered my knee. I—"

He took a deep breath and it was then that Kate finally managed to look up into his eyes.

He looked away.

"I have to retire from the Force," he sputtered. "I'll be using a cane for the rest of my life because of that bastard."

She felt her heart skip a beat and her eyes fill up once more. It was too much to handle. She had known it was bad but – he had to retire? He was going to leave her? He wouldn't be there anymore – not with coffee, a brilliant (if not crazy) idea, or a dirty joke.

Because she hadn't been fast enough.

"Rick," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She went to hug him but he shrunk away. She leaned away. "Do you blame me?"

He shook his head. He didn't answer. "I'm really… tired right now," he muttered.

She leaned away, trying to ignore how her bones seemed to be crushing from grief. Nodding, she reassured, "I'll come tomorrow."

"Do you mind if you don't?" he objected quietly. "I just… need some time."

She lifted the corner of her mouth and nodded, just needing to get out. She was about to lose it. She was about to lose him. She had to get out. She couldn't lose it here. She couldn't fall down here. She loved him and he was slipping away.

She asked, "Okay, how much time?"

"I'll call you, okay?"

* * *

><p>He didn't call.<p>

He never called.

Months passed and she never heard from him. He had picked up his things from the Precinct during her lunch break one day and it was like he was never there in the first place. She wasn't reassigned another partner. Montgomery let her off the hook for sleeping with Rick because of his particular circumstance.

But he never once called her.

She hadn't expected him to, of course. That was what happened when someone said, "I'll call you, okay?" Once you walked away, you weren't supposed to expect hearing from that person ever again. Kate knew this.

But she waited.

She waited for days and weeks and months until finally six months had gone by and she had deteriorated to the point that she only looked like Kate Beckett but no longer felt like her. She would drink whiskey some nights until she fell asleep and felt miserable at work most days. She threw herself into cases and took them all personally.

She had been warned she was becoming too violent with suspects in interrogation.

Ryan and Esposito stayed at arms-length. They offered to take her out for beers that that first week but after a month and no change, they stopped coming around. Sure, they were around for cases but they mostly talked to each other and only told her vital information.

No longer were people confiding in her.

Lanie had stuck around longer but even two months after Rick left, she also stopped calling. If Kate didn't have to work, she would spend her days alone in her apartment, staring out the window, or at a blank wall, or her mother's murder board.

She was miserable.

And depressed.

She wasn't even grieving over her lost love relationship with Rick anymore. It was just the relationship in general she missed. Over those few months they were together as partners, she had somehow gotten used to that feeling of partnership. She liked having someone there to watch her back, keep her safe, and take her side.

She missed his coffee. She tried and failed to duplicate it. His pancakes were something she missed too. And she missed his smile, the way his eyes crinkled. God, she missed Alexis so much. She hadn't seen her since that day in the hospital when she was curled up, asleep and clutching her father's arm.

She had a birthday that February. She would be six now.

He had a book coming out now too. _Deadly Storm_ – the first in his anticipated Derek Storm series – was coming out that next week. She was glad – through everything – he had managed to get his writing career back on track.

Glancing up from her coffee, she stared out her window to the busy streets of Manhattan alone. It was a gorgeous afternoon. The sun wouldn't be setting for several more hours and people were taking advantage of the warm – but not blistering – day by walking in sundresses and shorts.

People down below looked happy.

There was a knock on her door.

She looked to the door, with the same calmness she had developed over the past months. Rising to her feet, she took one last sip of coffee before shuffling to the door. The hardwood floor was cool under her feet and she shivered once.

Unlocking the door, she took a deep breath, and opened it widely.

There, on the other side, stood Richard Castle – like he had just walked out of one of her dreams.


	30. Always

**I don't own Castle.**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Elektra

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: When he walked into the 12th Precinct, he expected dead bodies, paperwork, and a fresh start. What young Detective Richard Rodgers was not expecting, however, was his new partner, Detective Kate Beckett. Caskett/AU.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 29 – "Always"<em>

* * *

><p>"Richard, you need to get ready!"<p>

Richard Castle didn't feel like getting ready.

It was childish, he knew, but he didn't care. Not really, anyway. Sure, he was thrilled that his newest book was already climbing up the Bestsellers' Lists across the nation; he was excited to go to a book party full of beautiful women that wanted his autograph; he was happy that Gina had let him breathe for the first time in six months.

What he really wanted to do, however, was sit alone in the dark and drink. Maybe write. Watch a movie. _Star Wars_, perhaps? But he really just wanted a Scotch.

It had been months since he had given up alcohol. He had never considered himself dependent, not even during his rowdy years in college, but after Kate Beckett he had gone from casual-drinker to almost-alcoholic in just a matter of weeks.

He would wait until he had his daughter safely tucked away in bed when he would retreat to his office and sip on Scotch until early in the morning. He would – more often than not – watch the sunrise, write a chapter or two, fix Alexis breakfast and take her to school, before he went to bed for a few hours at a time.

In the end, it had only taken one bad night at the bar to stop. It was only five weeks since Dunn that he stumbled home so far gone he could hardly see. He was stumbling and falling and crying uncontrollably at how messed up his life had become.

He was in pain all the time.

He used a cane.

An old man in his twenties.

He had a daughter without a mother. His mother doubled as a babysitter without any room for the role of "grandmother."

He wrote but without passion. Sometimes, early in the morning, he would remember a particular case and the adrenaline would pump through his veins. Chapters would fly through his fingers before the depression hit again.

That night he had fallen in his office. His cane had slipped on a piece of paper and he fell down. Hard. The stitches on his abdomen burst open and he cried out, clutching the skin as blood seeped through his fingers. He lay there, crying and grunting in pain, for what seemed like a very long time.

In reality, it was only a few minutes before his mother found him.

It was in those minutes that he thought nothing except of his daughter. What was he doing to her? He wondered. She didn't have a mother but she had never had a mother. She had asked about Katie often at first but now she hardly mentioned her at all. Kids moved on quickly. And here he was, immobile, lying in a pool of his own blood, unable to pick up the pieces of his former life and move on.

How resilient his daughter was.

How strong she was.

But what if she had been the one to find him? How would his six-year-old daughter handle such a situation? If he had continued down this road, what would happen to her? To them?

"Richard, did you hear me?"

His mother's voice brought him out of his stupor. He looked up from his storyboard and blinked heavily. He shook his head and mumbled some incoherent string of words. She huffed and crossed her arms over the bedazzled pant suit she had picked out to wear to the party.

"You need to get ready. You're still in sweats for crying out loud!" She came forward and picked at his white t-shirt. "And there's a hole in this shirt. The limo will be here in less than half an hour." She narrowed her icy-blue eyes and stressed, "You need to shower and comb your hair. Brush your teeth. Your clothes are already on your bed."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother."

She tapped him on the cheek with just a little bite. "God, I thought I had already raised you. I didn't think I'd ever have to tell you to brush your teeth this late into your life."

_Late_? Was he already this "late" in his life? Not even thirty? He supposed he was.

"I guess I'm just nervous," he admitted softly.

His mother, the talent actress that she was, went from ice-queen to melting pot in a split second. Her eyes warmed and she asked, "Why are you nervous?"

He didn't answer quickly. He took his time molding the words, even though what he needed to express was quite simple. Martha sighed and sat down next to him, brushing her hand up and down his back comfortingly.

"Everything will change after this," he finally announced.

"Yes." She sounded confused. "It will. But things have changed already. This is small compared to everything else."

That was true, at least. Receiving the news that he could no longer work as a detective because of the extensive injury to his leg had been pretty shocking news. Leaving Kate had been pretty bad as well, obviously. And the brief – but difficult – stint with drinking.

This – compared to everything else – should be easy.

Hell, it was a party in his honor.

But something was missing.

He knew what it was of course – it was the final puzzle piece that had been gone since she walked out of that hospital room.

However, it had been his choice to leave her. It was his choice to say that he'd call her and never did. At the time, it seemed like the only logical thing to do.

He could say that she didn't think she deserved someone like him: someone rendered crippled, someone with a child less than ten, someone with new-found stardom that would put his picture in places he didn't want. Those things were contributing factors to an unsuccessful relationship, sure, but those were all things that he could have put behind him.

Those things were negotiable.

But the true problem resided in him, as a man.

He didn't deserve someone like her. Someone so shining, so selfless, so brilliant and beautiful and broken. He didn't have the strength or the audacity to keep up with someone of her caliber.

He was selfish. That was why he became a part-time writer and cop in the first place: he wanted it all. He could say he was humbled by the attention he was getting but in all honesty, he craved it. He loved the mail from his fans – even the naughty little pieces he hid in the back of his desk drawer – and he was thrilled at the prospect of a party in his honor.

In other, and simpler, words: he was no good for her.

"Don't worry so much, darling." Somewhere between the time she had spoken last and when she had spoken again, she had rested her head down on his shoulder, rubbing his back gently. He was much younger the last time she did this. "Everything will turn out okay." She paused and leaned away from him so she could look him in the eye. "It always does."

"Always?" he asked, feeling like he was three years old again when his mother first told him this. He had broken his favorite toy train and she glued them back together, telling him everything would turn out okay because it _always_ did.

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

"Always."

They shared a look and then she tapped his knee. "Okay, enough talk," she announced and stood up. "You now have twenty-five minutes before the limo gets here. Go, go, go!" She roughly dragged him to his feet and pushed him into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

He was slightly impressed that she had managed to drag him all this way. He was a big guy and she was a very small woman. And while he was impressed, he wasn't that surprised. Like Kate Beckett, his mother was a very strong woman.

Slowly, he took the pieces of his lounging ensemble off. He left them littered on his bedroom floor. First came off his shirt, tossed near the door. Then he stepped on the toes of his socks and lifted his leg, pulling them off without bending over, a lazy technique he had picked up in college. Then he hopped out of his pants and underwear just in time to reach his bathroom.

While he waited for the hot water to come, he stared at himself in the mirror. Five o' clock shadow was an understatement of the mess that was on his face. He had the beginnings of the ruggedly handsome lumberjack. And while he would look great on the cover of a mommy-porn novel, the facial hair had to go.

After he took the shower.

It was cold standing stark-naked for too long in a bathroom that didn't hold much heat.

He jumped in the shower and slipped on the floor. He caught himself before he fell and for a second he felt something shoot throughout his body. He looked down at his leg but realized it was the dull ache that he always had now – not any agony coming from that direction.

_What was this feeling?_ He wondered idly, clutching onto the railing at the back of the shower. He looked down at his gripped hands and noticed how white his knuckles were. He hadn't felt such a sense of panic in a long time. Six months, in fact. He hadn't felt this feeling in so long.

This feeling of living.

This emotion of _actually being alive_.

He looked up to the ceiling, feeling his eyes strain with an overwhelming emotion.

If he had fallen, he could have died. He laughed out loud. He could have fallen and cracked his head open. Death by slippery shower floor. He had been shot – and _stabbed_ – and something as little as this could have ended this pathetic living he had managed for the past six months.

What was the point of all of this?

What was the point of moping around his house, unshaven, barely clothed, and thinking about his future, when his future could have stopped because of a shower floor?

He stepped back from the railing, under the hot water from the shower head. He felt tears mix with the water and he laughed again. It had been so long since he had laughed for no reason at all. The action hurt his cheeks and mouth.

There wasn't a point to this depression, he thought. There wasn't a point to the drinking, to the long nights, the loneliness, when he could have everything. He could have everything. He could be happy. And while he considered himself selfish, was selflessness supposed to be so depressing?

He started to move then. He washed his hair and body, feeling the months of figurative dirt slide off his body and down the drain. When he flipped off the shower, he felt a relief he hadn't felt in a long time.

He jumped out of the shower, just for the hell of it, and landed perfectly on his feet. For good measure, he extended his arms above his head like a gymnastic gold medalist. The smile wouldn't go off his face. He couldn't muster the energy to frown any longer. He looked at himself once in the mirror, the bum of what he used to be, and laughed at how ridiculous he appeared to be.

After shaving and combing his hair, he felt refreshed and shiny and new.

He rushed to his bedroom and checked the time. He still had ten minutes before the limo got here. How an epiphany could take so little time! He wanted to cheer out loud and run around his house like a little kid. He felt like playing laser tag; he should take Alexis to do that sometime.

Maybe when she was older.

He threw on the tux and struggled a bit with the bow-tie but managed to make it look proper. Then, he emerged from his room a changed man.

In the kitchen, he found his mother splitting an apple with Alexis, who was looking quite adorable in her puffy black dress and curled hair. "How are my two favorite ladies?" he asked, leaning down to kiss Alexis on the head.

She looked up at him and grinned.

"Daddy! Do you like my dress?" She flipped her hands down, indicating the puffy tutu-like bottom. He smiled brightly.

"You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen," he claimed and grabbed a piece of the apple. His mother gave him a look that read: _Are you high or something?_ Just to add to her torment, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek and then shoved the bit of apple into his mouth.

Damn, he was starving.

When was the last time he ate?

"Richard," his mother said cautiously, "are you okay?"

He took a while to answer. After snatching another piece of apple, despite Alexis's protest, he chewed it thoughtfully before answering, "Change is good."

The doorbell rang before she had a chance to reply and Rick skipped (yes, _skipped_) to the front of the house. He could hear his daughter laughing after him, claiming how silly he was. Silly was good, he thought, and silly he liked.

He liked feeling _silly_ again.

He opened the door in a rush. A man he didn't recognize stood on the other side; he was a middle-aged Indian man with a balding head, wearing a nice suit. "Mr. Castle?" he asked, looking him up and down. "I'm from the limo service."

"Good, good," he said. "And you're early! Wonderful."

He called after his mother and then turned to the coat rack behind the door. He threw on his pea coat and checked to make sure he had his phone and wallet. Alexis skidded up beside him at that moment and he helped her into her coat as well while his mother shrugged on her own.

"Ready?" his mother asked him as if she was still replaying his earlier worries in her head.

"Yes," he said, giving her a winning smile. "But there's somewhere I need to go first."

His mother's apprehension disappeared in an instant, replaced by a smile that said she knew exactly where he was planning to go.

* * *

><p>Kate Beckett looked surprised, to say the least.<p>

She looked as beautiful as always, if not a little defeated. Her hair was longer than it was the last time he saw her but still held the same curl as before. Her makeup was spotless and natural and her eyes were a radiant caramel color. She wore jeans and a tight white t-shirt; her feet were bare.

"Hi," he said, nerves starting to spike up his arms. The euphoria of the epiphany was wearing off, like crashing off a decent high, and he was left facing the woman he had avoided for months with his confidence slipping through his fingers.

She frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Valid question.

He wasn't sure how to answer.

"I…"

She didn't give him the satisfaction of puking up an answer.

"Why didn't you call?"

He licked his lips. It was another question that he should answer. He had the words, right on the tip of his tongue. He should explain. But he didn't want to. He was wild and romantic and all he wanted to do was pull her into a time-stopping kiss and let all the questions disappear from her mind.

But this was Kate Beckett.

She would not be so easily swayed.

He had taken too long to answer. She huffed and started to close the door on him. This was it, he thought. It was now or never. Get the girl or lose the girl. This was his only chance for redemption and he was damned if he didn't take it.

"Wait, Kate," he said, his arm blocking the door from slamming into his face. She stopped then but fixed her eyes to the floor, not meeting his. That was fine, he figured. It might be better if he wasn't drowning in those eyes of hers.

The words failed him again. "I should have called," he said earnestly. "I…" She didn't want his excuses. "I should have called." She nodded in agreement and sighed, but didn't look at him. He tried again, feeling her slowly back up from him.

She finally let loose a wet laugh and glared at him.

Her eyes were full of tears.

She shrugged her shoulders, as if she wasn't sure what to say. He shuffled his feet, no longer looking at her, but to the same crack in the hardwood that she was. Finally, he heard her utter something he couldn't hear. Finally, he looked up.

"You should have called."

There was finality to her voice.

_This is it_, he thought. This was the end.

As she closed her door, he stared her in the eyes. They were crying now with a streak of mascara running down her right cheek. He felt his heart constrict and suddenly the dull pain in his leg increased tenfold. He suddenly felt like he was back in that abandoned warehouse. He felt the leaves under his back and Dunn standing above him.

_You lost her_, Dunn mocked.

The image faded away suddenly. He leaned his head on the door and whispered, "I'm sorry, Kate. I'm so sorry. And if I'm never going to see you or talk to you again, you need to know that I am truly sorry." He pushed back with the palms of his hands.

As he walked away, he felt his heart continue to beat inside his chest. This wasn't the end, he figured. This was just the beginning. He would move on. He would write books and play with his daughter; he would love again.

He always did.

The weight of his apology was suddenly off of his shoulders; he rolled him experimentally… they _did_ feel better. He stopped at the elevator, waiting for it to come from the top floor. He ran a hand through his hair, effectively ruining the precision in which it had been gelled.

Oh, well.

The elevator binged open and he took one step to get inside and leave this part of his life behind.

"Castle!"

He turned.

At the end of the hall, right outside her door, Kate was standing. She had on a tight, electric blue dress that dipped low in the front. She was wearing black pumps now. Her hair was still curly, though, and fell down long past her shoulders. Her makeup was as flawless as it was when he had first walked to her door.

The woman defeated and full of grief was gone.

This woman was stunning.

She walked to him slowly. It wasn't until she was only a few feet from him when he noticed her nervousness. She was squeezing the tips of her fingers together and her eyes reflected apprehension. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, sweetly and a little bit shy.

She whispered, "Do you need a date for your party?"

He grinned.

He held out his arm and she took it, biting her lip.

Rick whispered, "Always."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**I couldn't let you guys wait a month for this chapter. :)  
>I can't believe I've been over a year since I started this little project. It's been a fun ride and I hope everyone has enjoyed it.<br>Thanks so much for reading!**

**Until next time,  
>Lizzy <strong>


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